From A Gram of &S Stupor

For now I am in love with the navy blue
blouse falling upon the back of the chair,
shoulders hiked & squared before it slipped
from the stone sweating in the notch
at the bottom of your throat. I have learned
to watch evenings collapse without hindrance
around the edges of a bed. Earlier
in the kitchen by the stove, you pulled
at one or two buttons and I knew
what it meant: clear bottles of darkness,
a flag of twilight on the carpet & papered walls
of a continent, the blue hills & bluer valleys
of the blouse. You are a map without boundaries,
Wife. You are a river without end.