white nights

.

nights
when the moon
is so white and heavy
I fear being crushed by it
whilst sleeping

I think of him

the hills and valleys of his voice
the dark hollow of his throat
and curve of his ear

the sleek line of his shoulder
the way his hair curled-
like little question marks
against the lines on his neck

the sound of his laughter
would wrap itself
around me

and his silences
whispered my name

his fluid motion and
the hurry of his actions-
all of them
resonated
against the nerves of my life


these white nights,
I think of him-

and am moved
still


.