Two

by Oliver Hunter

At night their hair

Entwines them both

In nests of breathing

She draws her fingertips

Petal–light

Across the Braille of her eyelids

She whispers to her

Eyes blind

Daring her to come

So they go

The windowsill holds them both

Porcelain forms poised

Hair tangled in sleep

Their Virgin Mary hands linked

The night is talking

Her heart is talking

Her bones are shifting

Moonlight turns porcelain

Softly, dreamily, to feathers

Their arms are owl wings

Their feet talons

Four night eyes

Two heart–shaped faces

Drinking stars

White–velvet smiles across their lips

They dive.