the chain from off the door

how you came to me

you came on soft, like the shadows i used 
to trace across my bedroom wall and down
the backs of boys i can’t remember the taste 
of now. you were gentle in the dark of several
weekends: we met two or three times in late
september and early october before i even
allowed myself to think about you. met once
or twice more before i let my mind categorize
you as someone who could hold up the moon, 
if he had half a will to. you were tall enough
and good. still are.

you came on soft; pooled around my ankles
in the frosty reflection of a cracked sidewalk
while another boy held me firmly to his chest 
and, after a few beers, told me that you had 
said that you found me cute. it was fortuitous 
both that the night was dark and that my face 
was turned away from that boy with curly hair. 
he did not see me smiling. the night smiled 
right back.

you came on soft, even after i knew that you 
had cocked your head and considered it. we
caught snow in our eyelashes and compared
musical tastes, and i wasn’t sure of anything.
but before bed, in the girls bathroom, emily 
fixed her eyes on mine in the mirror with a 
toothbrush in her mouth and grinned. “i think
he likes you,” she said.

you came on soft: so soft that sometimes i still can’t believe 
that you are really with me until i trace the pieces of you that 
i know now across my bedroom wall and down your own back. 
you smile as if you know what i am up to and kiss me in the dark.