The quiet comfort of your resting embrace,
in the muted stillness which comes of knowing
and being known, defenseless, bare, scars showing
yet loved and lulled in arms which will not unlace
sono qui, here, so that nothing might displace,
disturb, or harm your slumber, your calm growing
profound, with every puff of hushed breath slowing
against my nape. Then, steals into our soft space…

Dread. Fear. Fault. Guilt. Grief. Angst. Ire. Wrath. Woe. Shame.
a sharp intake, a tiny twitch, a fret
in dream, in memory, the insect creeps,
intending to lay eggs, but you reclaim
our peace and send the spindle-legged threat
away with a growl, a clutch. Our love still sleeps.