BB Grey–musings

“Come closer—let the room learn our names from your breath on my neck.”

Where are your lips—
with someone else,
or only with the idea of someone else?
It’s strange how the imagined
can cut so precisely,
like a scene edited to shine.

Where is your touch,
those secret letters you trace on my back?
You smile when I ask,
“What did that say?”
and I know before you answer.

I lean into you;
the space between us opens,
easy as a door we’ve used for years.
You draw me closer,
hands settling at my lower back,
asking and answering at once.
We move the way we always have,
not rehearsed, remembered—
even after the days we sharpened each other
with silence and stubbornness.

Dreams pretend to make us whole;
morning gives us something truer.
Your breath finds my neck,
and the room decides on tenderness.
Whatever we were so long ago,
we are again—
human, handleable, real.