Between.

A name like a breath caught in
between
the soft tissues in my throat
and it’s somewhere there, in
between
a whisper and a croak,
creeping silently through the night
between
a silver sentry of moonlit poplar,
bent over a shivering bundle,
between
palms as slick as dew,
that you insist on existence.
Between
the thunder under your nose
and the wave under your womb,
between
the snow upon your desert brow
and the frost upon your fingertips,
between
your thighs the size of boulders
you cradle winter in a wolf skin,
between
your teeth you hold my hollow bones,
a wild red smile to keep them warm
between
the endless shade of sycamore
and the softness of white clover,
between
the place before and the place between
you place me in the feathers.