On This Balmy Night

on this balmy night,
amongst the chirping of cicadas and
careful ashing of in-bed cigarettes,
the thick memory of eucalyptus and
the absence of cell phones ringing,
into the deepest and richest waters I am sure,
you are meant, here in this life, to wade.
but a fear of life's more powerful gifts
keeps you in an emotional twilight,
some shadow of longing distrusted.
you surely will sometime scoop the deep rich black silt
at the base of your riverbed,
but opt instead for the oily illusion on the surface.
i am not the one to show you these things.
i just see them.
your infinitely enjoyable body tells stories
there are still no clever plotlines,
or easily definable heroes or villains for.
you are part exhausted canvas, and part empty pallete.
you hover uncomfortably in-between.
almost broke out, but still so solidly held in.
won't you tell me your story?
i wait in the darkness, in the ambivalence of your embrace,
on this balmy night.