We liked the door,
to linger there whispering before
bed Did you lock it? Did you lock it? –more
like an accusation. We played
two-man tag all the way
back to the kitchen. Laid
like lost suitcases,
his and hers, watching a plane
drag its shadow into space
and wondering how to stop it.
Did you lock it?
you asked again, putting pennies from your pocket
on the dresser and making love
to m e like a ladder, rung by rung
until we hit the ceiling above
our bed.
The sheets spilled from the edge
like sarsaparilla: red.
Red root, red bloom pounded into a dust
that I told you not to touch
for fear of what
might happen.
When night slackened
we slept, unsettled, trying to fasten
ourselves to the idea of summer:
how August would surely come
like a ticket slipped under us
and yanked away.