“Because I Love You” by Amber Decker

In the closet is a suitcase
gathering dust, and yes
I know– you prefer the solid comfort
of wood and stone,
a book bathed in lamplight,
perched upon your knees
as you recline in bed.
But I am a traveler who has
spent nights combing
the heart of the dark forest
for the elusive red bird called joy.
I cannot say what songs I have sung to myself
to chase away the wolves,
the very thought of wolves, the dreams
of soft fur, endless and black as a Romanian night.
Panting, I have lain
with legs ajar, like the Danube,
spilling myself into my cupped palm.
Yet each day I come awake to polish
your pillars of wood and stone,
to make our bed, to stoke the fire,
to feed what slips hungrily
between us in the night.
My hands are two gypsies,
and you are the well-traveled road
they call home.
Their rough skirts brush your thigh
until you tremble like a lyre.
They know no other way to be,
those raven-haired dancers
who sweep their fiery tongues
across the hollows of your body
until you groan
and go still in my arms
as a beast with a belly
full of stones.