let us speak as sisters do, foreheads
touching
on the sun dried sheet

as the light stumbles evening into
its fine wide hands
there is no universe, but this bed

Soon enough it will be time for the clink of bone china
Spoons like tiny silver chains
The best sugar and polite conversation
little bits of cyanide dissolving in a fine oolong.

Oh the dreadful weight of teacups!

Give me back my milky way
Strewn with organza stars and the silent whisper of our eyelashes
A galaxy without drawing rooms or husbands,
Filled with the warm staccato of our fingertips speaking in brail.

I watch you across the table and dream of
That first shock of cold water
Reeds like a burst of spring
Whispering the secret language of river stones.