Being Pale Next to You

I like being pale
               next to you.
It's as if we were
a Tintoretto,
floating figures
across the Frari,
somewhere
between now and
the sixteenth century.

I like being pale
               next to you.
It's as if I'm able
to see two moons
in the cool evening sky,
holding your face
and the warmth of day
in my sun-kissed hands.

I like being pale
               next to you
It's as if I was
a China doll,
or a snowflake falling
to Earth,
melting only after landing
on your tongue.

I like being pale
               next to you.
It's as if both our hearts
beat in you
and only when we join
do my cheeks turn flush
and you fill me
with your life.

I like being pale
               next to you.
It's as if when we make love
and I forget
which is you
and which is me,
I can open my eyes
and remember again.

Paper Ships

Four days                                           
and three nights,                                
a memory,                                           
and still,                                           
Scottish lights                                           
beam brightly.                                           

In love
with a land
and the smile
of a man,
his strong hand
in mine.

I've slept
with a photo
beneath
a feathered pillow
of salty tears,
nightly.

I've knelt
at the coast
and sent
paper ships
to The Isles
with messages.

On mirrored stars
I've wished
for double
his kiss
with parted lips
again.

Awake,
but in a dream,
a memory,
that began
one year ago
today.