One Night

Clothes coalesce into
A puddle on your carpet.
Stockings are another
Puddle, but dark and silky

With water striders inside.
Her bra looks like a blindfold,
Which is appropriate,
Because both of you are

Blindfolded by darkness
And grope each other
As if looking for a light switch.
You know her name but not

Her personality, and she knows
Your cologne but not your sadness.
In the dark, she doesn’t even
Feel like a woman:

She feels like a torus, or a soft
Polyhedron spinning in your hands –
You’d forget she was alive,
If her vowels didn’t remind you.

And for all you know,
To her, you’re just
A tongue transcribing
Lies onto her loins.