duvet dunes

sand in my eyes,
the cozy kind,
while his comforter outlines my side.
I am still soft inside
from being taken,
taken well;
the oasis swells.

A cigarette behind his ear,
jacket on;
it is only the desert of sleep
that buries me,
keeps me from being
professional nicotine company.
he pauses over me,
sitting bedside,
and I'm catching the ice-shard eyes
on their way to melting.
Some truth inside me
is welling;
I tell him, then,
"I really like you."

A rustling of palms
as the dunes over my shoulders
slip down
in desert wind, and then

his smile does enough to tell
me he knew what I meant.
in that icy accent:
"I like you as well."