Strangely so,

we turn nightly
face to face
lick each other's cheek
like animals
tasting their own

Have I missed anything?
Were you gone for a moment?

An explicit scent of tobacco
fills the bed
and I guess that you've been thinking

tapping your smoke
against the tin ashtray

Come morning I learn
I have stumbled
upon some foreign language
you could not translate

something about your hand
inside my panties
I could not justify

Copyright © 2005 Nicole Poirier

Nicole Poirier is a freelance writer from Canada. Other poems are scheduled elsewhere for online publication. She describes herself as eccentric; adores cats and driftwood. She is currently writing and editing her first book of poetry.