I spent the day with invisible you, your arms
invisible around me, holding me blue in your
open invisible eyes. We walked invisible,
invisible and happy, daydreaming sight as if
light were a piano it played on. Invisible
my hand at your well-cut trouser, invisible
speeding night, the invisible taxi, bare
the invisible legs, kissing the vanishing
mouths, breasts invisible, your, my invisible
entwining, the sheets white as geese, blue as sky.
And darling, how your invisible prick rose,
rosy, invisible, invisible as all night
galloping, swinging, we tilted and sang.
Honor Moore’s The Bishop’s Daughter is a finalist for this year’s National Book Critics Circle Award. She is a poet, critic, playwright, and editor of several volumes of poetry, including the forthcoming Poems of the Women’s Movement.
in your carpeted office you lay my life down / and say open up to that small room in my sternum.