We found ourselves in the kitchen again.
Slant-hipped, elbow bent,
your hands resting on the counter.
Even though you didn’t say it, I knew
you were thinking of Japan.
The water between us already:

Like the time you took me by the throat
and pushed. And the moment the light
disappeared from your body. And when I realized
the cause of my want was something
more shallow than I’ll ever admit.

The next morning I found a lump in my breast,
turned over, then dreamt of a lily that told me
the day I would die, and the lily became a jar
of impossible things and fell, blushing.

The next time I woke—you stirred, not quite gone.