Just another evening.
One.
Your voice floats on the evening's water
like a sleepy Narcissus.
And I am ashore, thinking of drowning.
Two.
Every touch is a white envelope hiding tens of letters,
also white.
Letters penned by your nudity about itself.
Three.
Your shirt is an open envelope.
Your breasts, two letters always about to arrive.
Four.
Even the nights fingers whisper as they
think of undressing you.