Maroon

Folding your shirt

on cool brown granite in the chilly laundry room

leaves swirl outside without color.

 

Feeling its size, softness, warm from the dryer’s touch up cycle

The deep red

 

I feel marooned

as if your swells were 

even now under my hands softening as

your

surface meets

flesh

yields

my hands following

pressing to where

surrender

meets resistance and 

we reverse again

My palms’ surface

yielding

then you

further

surrender

 

There’s breath

with it’s catches

and releases, sighs

I can almost see your

eyes

in that place between

presence

and swept away

I love

      so much

 

I flip the shirt over,

fold back its arms

(yes, there’s a moment this

is you, too, and undeniable 

stirring deep)

and place it in the basket

 

The Berkshires are cold

in this November bleakness

while Miami is steamy hot

 

If you were here 

it would be warmer

I would have to lock the

door

behind us.

©2015 Dan Ruderman