Encountering Enkidu

I sink into the slip of the bed.

Your shadow buries the sunlight,

twice as warm.

My eyes are drawn to

your arms, your neck, the sight of your breast,

trembling,

how it heaves as you take breaths.

You pinch

the skin between my fingers and

tell me to hold on just as tight.

Hand on my heart. Hand in my hair, separating it

into streams. Find the roots

to peel them, turn the sinew into string, and

leash my soul below canopies to prevent it from

getting lost.

But we know

nothing will return for me.

For my speech, for my body.

You, too, will leave,

and I will descend into memory.

I close my eyes. There

is bright red and rain,

the dregs of your touch cascading my skin,

and the sound of running water.

 J. C. Henny likes to write and draw.