Moonlight Streams Evenly Over the Pasture

We make love quietly, throwing the blankets back to go down on each other, our moans hissed whispers, our gratitude after like a warm low sea. Shall we go together to the library? I wake early and stumble through thermometer-busting cold to throw hay to the horses, then gaze at the sky which is the color of dead trout save for the eastern horizon's dim glow like a candle stub. It is as if we decorate one another for a private holiday, as if we are scribbling on our grandparents' maps with our eyes closed. Coffee gets cold when you don't drink it - this is a law. Moonlight streams evenly over the pasture, regardless of our ineptitude with origin stories. This is another. This is a prayer on the tip of my tongue that explodes us. This insistence is like a ruined ship at the bottom of a lake that one day will be found. My one, my heart, my light cone. Unity is a garden, a hot mouth, at home in us.