at the moment
she opens
a door
and as she holds you
into another room,
it is neither your room
nor her door
but her hand
that is turning
your eye
away
from the key
to the door
that you are
rooming in.
you wonder
how she unlocks
you
from the doorframe
you have locked
yourself
out of.
her skin comes
out of the fingering
of a latch
just under your lips
where her lips are
touching.
pushing her hair back
away
from her neck
you understand
much more openly
the door.
she is a key
at the tips
of your fingers
whose shape
you can not help
but want
to fit
into the narrow slot
of your fingerbones.
the short gasp
and smile
that escapes her mouth
moves further
than your ear
into the keyhole
your ear is
resting on.
you rest
your mouth
on her skin
to warm the room
before the moment
you walk
into a room
where she is
breathing.
as you press
your skin
against the walls
of the room,
she welcomes you
into her skin
where your bones
curve
around the frame
of herself
and her hands
fold
over your back.
a lock of her hair
tumbles across
her face
onto yours.
when you finally breathe
yourself
into the room
with her fingertips,
the latch of your bones
closes
your eye
the moment
her skin
crosses yours.
you find yourself
suddenly
to be a room
where she finds
comfort in feeling
the walls
of your skin pressed
against her own.
every smell
of yourself
reminds you
of her, the her
that reminds you
so carefully
the color-
full-smell
of you
with her
in a room
without doors.