hip-to-hip, and the one drag you take,
making our lips taste the same.
Your stoop is the best place for glass jars half-filled,
and us, sweetened and loosened with red
wine, purpling our wetted tongues.
Your stoop is the best place for rainy black nights,
watching, the red-leaved tree orange-lit
those warmth kissed rainy eves; and -
Your stoop is the best place for nothing at all,
steady breath, faster, slowly; and the
rising wind you breathe in me.