Once this bedroom door is closed the rug
deals in flowers, its dark scent
reaching up where your eyes
expect sunlight and miles away the heady whiff
from a firefly --already she's naked

the woman you just this minute
inhaled, a deep breath
who can't see, has to feel along the grass
though the dead still stake a claim

and never leave --the room is locked
with the fragrance stones come for
--it's a little room
a place you keep for yourself
so the door can become the distance
that fastens her arms to yours

and you wait for the pathways
to fall inside your throat
as the cry for footsteps
filled with kisses and fingernails

and the rug torn apart for rags
smells from loneliness
from the mouth you will gently place
over her heart and time to time.