Marissa Hyde Incalescent Night sitting forgotten on a coffee table, a six pack you bought finds my fingers before it loses its chill. this is you in the form of habit, i'm sure. you are always warm. when said, this really means forehead against sternum, hands restless, barely enough blanket for two, the breath of laugh. warm like a hood pulled over my ears. lying on a concrete pier with splashing spring lake water misting me, a storm falling in. you say it must be a nice night to sail.