in black sandal, left hand pendulum to her thigh.
This has to happen over and over before I sleep. At her throat a white twist of silk.
Meaning, he said, is like going up to someone.
Turning into shadow she shows me only - as light falls, freeing from her body - a rippling minutiae of muscle, the brief articulate bones of her back
as they grind and ride and flow on one another
as she grows fainter, a grid of scattered flashpoints
floating farther in. And won't look back.