Poem Upon Staying the Night

 Tom Capelonga 
 
In which I do not count the paces
backward from your room
or whisper “have a lovely fall”
while gathering my boots.
 
 
In which supine cartographers
chart course through clement waters
with cheek to forehead chin to chest
descending into confidence.
 
 
In which as is my custom
I am conscious of impermanence -
that spectres crowd your nightstand
and my traces can be laundered.
 
 
(The family who bought
my childhood home
turned my bedroom into their
walk-in closet)
 
 
In which our limbs articulate
a dawning of contentment
that presses through skin
to vessels shaped by what
has not remained.
 
 --

Tom Capelonga is a native of New York City. His poems currently appear in Issue 3 of FourTwoNine Magazine.