the hook is not hidden
in the small facts
of names and dates
of pets and friends.

it does not hide
in mouths and tongues,
or in the warm corners
that draw the hand.

we set ourselves to be caught
as we surrender distance
with each act
of hands and mouths and bodies
that we use to transmit
what words cannot carry.

what scent clings
to you in the morning
like a soft down
that might be collected
if you were to guide my hands
over the calling skin
of your breasts, your stomach,
and the shy clasp of your legs?

it is the same scent
you last night pressed
into these sheets
and that now
as we move
threads itself
into the air.