Strawberry jam
and steeping chai
swirl about
the kitchen.
Out there in the dim
evergreens sway
as gloomy gusts lick
needled branches.
Up in the loft,
our bare bodies lock
together like palms
clasped in prayer.
Your skin is religion.
Your love light,
my heaven.
Our breath,
minds, and senses
ensnared.
pm poetry 