Christopher Stephen Soden Come to my window Milky stars aloft in polished black dome, slick as warm tears, wait with me. A long-before wish stirs the night air, ticking with romantic crickets. Long before talk, agile joy of limb, stories of bears or slippers or rose thorns, long before proms and razors and blush of fragrance steeped with sweat. I know you have been looking for me, and the spell of what breaks open between us, what will flower in the other’s company, intoxicates me, wind drowsy with honeysuckle. You will wander from a party, drifting to the lost music of chance. Palms and toes will grasp the trellis, heart rhythm helping you find your balance on roof tile and waves of shingles. Moonlight will coat your black jacket and trousers, buttons of your suspenders. Still naked from sleep, I will leave my bed to twist the clasp and slip open the portal from the tumble of your days to the tumble of mine. We will pour smoky bourbon shots and play the regret of Edith Piaf as we find the steps of our intermingling, mouth brushing, brief, pensive, now again, now again longer, confidence melting reluctance, that you might know what flutters at the quick of the quick of me. Stars melt and drizzle, seep into the red mouth of dawn. Whippoorwills long. I know it will happen tonight.