I
Keep you hid among the spices in the cupboard
Cardamom, Turmeric, Sorceric, Cinnamon, Thyme;
your name in code in the tattoos on my arm and shoulder-blade
simmers with spice-flavoured milk-drinks in my mouth 8AM; the coffee smells
are wasting over me and Peter walks with me to class and talks about
peace, film, Douglas, entropy and it's like -BAM!- the day is here
long before I'm ready.

II
2PM- the afternoon reads like a sonnet about grey days:
interchanging rhyme and the quiet crinkle
of paper and cranes until just the end, and when he
varies the form, i almost love him i almost
love him i almost love him--
it's almost Time.

III
the light rain from one or two 11:30PM
lamps tires my eyes and i read and stir
milk and chai on the stove, pinning the book
with my chin against my chest when i need to use two hands.
he comes up the stairs two at a time, just when i need him least,
and i force the pale taste of you out of my mind
because i almost love him
i almost love him
but you come
-LEAPING-
back.