Cascades

The cascades of him along me. 

His hair falling in his face, 

his fingers tracing shapes, 

his limbs stretching past my length. 

My fingers are stained with ink from writing 

and the feeling of you. 

Your pattern of breathing in and out, 

your taste test from a sip of my coffee, 

your ideas, a collection kept in jars. 

Each night that you have your arms 

wrapped around me, 

changes the way I program, 

changes the way I go on. 

I add cinnamon to honey and vanilla, 

but it becomes saccharine, 

so I get wine drunk to ease my problems. 

I stare at the crack 

in my bedroom ceiling 

that look like you on me. 

Trickling to the ends, 

sharp turns and wide bends, 

I shower in the way you feel.