Outside the open window,
Wind wrote its signature in the air.
It wrote: mahogany.
It rewrote: mahogany.
Over and over, wind wrote
In cursive in the air,
Its signature spooling around
Fronds of palm trees,
Ruffling the courting of green birds,
Even reaching through the hotel window
To stitch invisible slippers around
The salty feet of my lover.

Beside the open window, my lover slept.
She had broken her promise:
I’ll sleep for five minutes, she said,
Then slept and slept, while I wondered
If it was as dark in her dreams as it
Had become outside.
The darkness was mahogany.
After we’re gone, the darkness will
Last hundreds of years,
Outlasting mahogany.
My sleeping lover was as still as mahogany.
She smells like mahogany when I look
For secret doors in the crook of her neck.