I know my leaving in the breakfast table mess. Bowl spills into bowl: milk and bran, bread crust crumbled. You push me back into bed.

More "honey" and "baby." Breath you tell my ear circles inside me, curls a damp wind and runs the circuit of my limbs. I interrogate the air,

smell Murphy's Oil Soap, dog kibble. No rose. No patchouli swelter. And your mouth-- sesame, olive. The nudge of your tongue behind my top teeth.

To entirely finish is water entering water. Which is the cup I take away?

More turning me. Less your arms reaching around my back. You ask my ear where I have been and my body answers, all over kingdom come.