Sometimes,
     the light holds you
        for a moment.
I want you that way
     (but closer to me)
for three heartbeats
or forever.

     That night
I felt your breath
near mine
     but frightened,
     my mouth fled.
Got lost in nervous words.

     This morning I lay silent
writing naked poems
on the backs of my eyelids
     about your hands, yesterday
          still and dark
and how they held themselves,
close to your stomach.
     They did not open
even when my fingers
     (always too cool)
tried to unfold them.
     Of course your smile
     (a little too late)
made the pain easier.
     Not lighter.

     Tonight I see secrets
shadowed in your dark eyes.
     But before I can try
to lift them gently
into the silence between us,
     your eyes flick away,
     and I blush foolishly.

     -Diana Guillermo, 2-98