Touches are Alive

                   Touches are alive

You like to look at me
asleep on your side, face
cradled by down soft pillow.
I also like to read you like a poem nail to hair,
slipping under lids, lips
pursed as if about to kiss.

In this, your nightly cruise,
you take leave
from port of day's
forgotten worlds meeting
off course to sail along
the sea of dark
through strings of island stars,
at the masthead bearing on
toward sun about to be
uncovered.

I like to see you stir
when into the small
cupped petal of you ear,
my whisper drifts:
touch me, touch me
I like to watch you rise
as if some warm tongue
you once spoke came
suddenly back to you, watch
you fix a course across
the sheeted light onto
the continent of my body.

ক । দ ।