When you wake me I am blind,
closed around the night
and faded like the quilt,
born of the black still
poking at my skull.
But your insistence grants
me eyes, hundreds
on the skin
as I accept the rhythms
of our sweat.
And then your fingers
string last across my ribs
as you kiss the air goodnight,
and I search the room for shadows
to rock me back to sleep.