A Poem in the Before Choice Disturbs collection

Asleep

I walk over as if guided by ghosts. Half Asleep
A diviner with a stick looking for soft water.
For now we speak, we need to, bartering
words like at a market;
our lives produce stacked in neat round moments.
"We do something dangerous when we talk." She says,
but I forgive her. This is her fourth drink.

Out of the bar and into a cab, our hands
find comfortable places, and the tension drains
Then, at her door, never thinking of going in,
I am pulled by unseen attractors.

Before I even step through her door,
before another glass of wine,
before I feel the cool sheets,
I notice a pressure.
The pressure I guessed and sensed all evening.
The pressure anticipated
falling onto her lips.