Heat of the Morning

I don’t imagine you
holding me down
breathing on my neck
eyeing my skin.

I don’t imagine you.
No. Not at all.

I don’t close my eyes
to dream of your back
arched at impossible angles
like a bowstring pulled tight.

And, no, I don’t close my eyes
to hear your voice
call out my name
in the darkness.

It is the most beautiful sound in the world.
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