It undulates, this light. Once
deemed straight by scholars
benighted, it churns in sexual waves
over each sweet hip, each cheek
fresh-kissed or breathless and grey.
Sinewy light follows us into beds
and the shameless dark, though
we wake to a dream world
where desire sloughs—as if
light's hands were not all
over us, bending us always
toward its lips, toward the bright,
curved pleasure at its source.