A Night in April

If only it were

                 raining at midnight, burning

        candles saucered

                                  on the rough-hewn

bookshelves

                   scattered around

           the room

The window near the bed

                                                is open

               a thread of moon, a glow

            cast up from

street lamps below

                   Shadows

           from other buildings

                        darken the walls

                    a hushed Billie Holiday

                                moans

                           from the radio

      Curled beside you,

                    I pull

  the cotton sheets

               around our shoulders,

loose as a sail, the scent

             of sandalwood clings

      to my hair

You stroke my face,

                       my breasts, you sweep

your palm across the round

                                           of my belly,

         searching