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The Hair —the time when after we make love he still has one of my little hairs in his mouth. Propping himself up on an elbow the hallway light behind him making him look like a black dandelion outside an opera house, he uses his forefinger and thumb to try to coax the hair from the back of the tongue, a slight push push then the little drunken sailor voluntarily but childishly comes forward . . . An embarrassing moment even for older lovers. Two or three attempts at this. He kisses me once, and in so doing, passes the hair which was still on his tongue into my mouth. This brown shiny S or whatever. I consider the words it could stand for, then: sojourner, slim, sagacity; whatever I have loaned has been given back to me, the body inside the soul he holds, is held by, and is not lonely— 38 ...

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