I touch myself to sleep,
Elbows, neck, the bend under my thighs. I know exactly how and where I want those hands. So somehow, my hands–small and dimpled
They have become enough for me
Do you know when I was next to you, I kept on looking at the rain
(You do not understand how I look at the rain)
I kept on looking at your face–
your slanting factly clenched against the shaking light, swallowing your moans because they are your own. (you do not understand how I look at you)
Your tongue folded me into a little bird. I had been sitting on your shoulder all this time, but you did not notice.
This has to be enough for me– measuring:
1. The length of your fingers
2. The slant of your face
3. The distance between your eyes
4. The distance between you and me: An infinity, because you were never here/ (Or alternative line:)
This is enough for me: holding myself to sleep, exactly how I want to be held; measuring time with words, measuring words with time.