Dear
Lover,
there is something about seeing
you
naked and nude in my bed
nothing but the tippy top of your
head
peeking from the afghan
I crocheted with my left hand
a granny square, a tradition as
old as love
a comfort so richly vintage
denim that we can live in
a secure fit, a third skin
I’ve made you my second.
and we disappear again
beneath a blanket of invisibility
crocheted comfort
I feel your heart drumming my ears
tapping against my breast
summer breath and spring kisses
I hear laughter again
the sound of you loving me
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