Nights at his Place

He kisses his daughter good-night before making love to me.

He tip toes

like a king

through the hallways of this apartment

where I feel small

and insignificant.

He sieves away

his silky frame of mind

built up;

his skin

might as well

be veins of verses

that I can read

like my scribbled handwriting on the fridge informing him that we need milk from the store.

He stretches

and I curve

the hypnotism

of his cigarette between his fingers

and the taste

of nicotine on his tongue.

I'm a fledgling


that what is, is

and the same is always the same.

He kissed his daughter before closing his eyes to sleep

with me in his arms.

I shiver

in the morning chill

of this place

but my bare feet

seem to find their way back to him



he is waiting for me.

He makes his daughter breakfast before kissing me goodbye

and I make my way

back to my place.