From the Fishouse

It must have been the night
I pulled at your breasts
till they were long enough

to fit into our pillowcases
because that morning I woke
to find the bed sheet had come off

the corners, drawing us closer.
You said, without looking at me,
I wish it was always

blue light in the doorway.
And just as I was about to turn over
instead of trying to gather
what you meant,

a stork ripped a hole in the roof
and carried the two of us away.