autumnal equinox

there is a line that runs
between the expanse of cheekbone
and mouth, a small, perfect crease
where the skin kisses itself.
all night i watched it.

i wanted to disturb it with my mouth
and tell you something, then, some
wordless thing that had more to do with breath
and mild wishes thrown silent
against the tongue, so soft and
full of mute promise.

that night i had no words,
embarrassed by the hard sounds
which would stumble in the dark. but your eyes
were brilliant, they were light
where there is no light, and all the while
the candles flamed and marked
the summer's last night.

i knew, seeing white disc toss shadows
in long sulphurous waves
against your face,
this was not life as i knew it;
it was some magic we'd conjured,
some trick of the night, arranging
slices of moon as you hovered
above me, shining.

but wait,
now i will tell you something,
my arms across your long back, my heart
racing toward another morning.
i will tell you a secret: this
is not real, none of it is real,
as dreams and sage drenched shadows
are not real,
and this is all there is.



suzanne finnamore