"The Week Has All the Days

The days had names,
but she came without a date,
without warning, without haste,
and time, which counted steps,
stopped counting.

The week turned the corner,
the month, a pause,
the clock no longer seeks the hours,
it seeks everything she carries in her body.

If yesterday was Tuesday,
or if tomorrow will be Sunday,
I don't know.
I only know that, every day
she enters through the door,
is my favorite day."

"Light Discomfort

We argue softly,
because love hates noise.

Your touch still weighs,
but it weighs less.
It's strange to feel your absence
with your body pressed to mine.

Your eyes speak too much.
Between the blinks, something dies and is reborn.
I try to listen, but the lips don't speak.
In bed, the hug tires before we do.

And if I asked what moves you?
Your eyes would lie.
But they always lie beautifully,
Like someone who believes in what they feel,
Until the hands let go."