Bedsheets

That hot summer

We worked hard, sweating:

Darker patches

on dark sheets.

When you are away,

I clean them solemnly;

Scent them, and the pillows

Where we breathed together, hard.

Smoothing each surface, neatly.

If we are one – which,

As much as anything,

We surely are –

This fabric is our skin,

Vessel, shell, interface

With a Universe, playground,

Quarry

Where we know how to play

And toil.