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Everything Must Be Filled

Everything Must be Filled
                                Cavalaire-sur-Mer, June 1945

We lay on the rough sandy oval rug,
A sign outside our window with an electric arrow
Pointed through the window perfectly
To your navel
Which I kissed
Down to the hair line.

You smelled of seaweed and sand.

I rested my chin on 
The soft spot above bone
And remembered 
How peaceful
A resting place this was.

As I pleased you
I saw a shadow stop under the door-
It is okay to listen.
Anyone can listen now.

We had not yet shared names.

After, we went below to the café.
We smoked the unapologetic cigarettes of your country,

Pouring out our words  
Like two waterfalls,
Filling the same void.

We sat on precarious, worn stools,
On chapped skin
Until the late afternoon sea breeze
Pushed us in.

At dusk 
We lay on the coiled, tired mattress springs,
Hips and toes touching.

We fell asleep
And shared dreams
And went back and forth
Into the other’s body.

We awoke,
Jolted back,
Startled to have lost
Who we were in the other.

We shared our names then 
And pulled up the starchy sheet
And blanket worn thin
From so many strangers.

I am sure you repeated my name
As I did yours.

The noises came in 
And filled us-
horns, laughter, a yell, 
clinking of coins, glasses and heavy porcelain plates meeting
and the sound
of restless, searching air.

We listened and listened
To catch 
Where the world’s heart had stopped
 And when it had started,
 Again.

loveworld war iiblank verse

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