Last night I learned the earth is coldest right after the dawn

When all solar heat has finally drifted,

Waves of geothermal energy pulse and then lift from the surface

Like dead skin

I feel cold and light

As I peel the last of you from the tips of my fingers

Thumb prints give way and all that’s left are old ridges

Of the places I once touched

There is inherent knowledge in an object storing radiant heat, and

Then steam off the surface, the froth of loss

When the sun breaks gregariously; and even though it is every day;

rays reach like collarbones across the gaping chest of an unexpecting sky

foreplay with the world

In slippers on this stool the world unbuttons her blouse for me,

One delicious button at a time; (of which there are many)

the pearl at her throat she unclasps with nimble fingers, incandescent the Italian shell

a grape to burst below, perhaps from Moterosso, Vernazza, the vineyards of Manarola

la terre, del mare, with a honeyed tongue I wander

From the kitchen counter I plot my week in Paris

Where one button below, at her heart is a button that gleams, is bronze, is brazen

It dizzying and glamorous and all too suddenly falls away to expose

The bamboo slide at manipura, the world opens up Indonesia, a silence so thorough it buzzes

And the blouse, silky white, lets a breeze through that is laden with the nutty smell of rice

the bottom bead lies at the root the wooden bead of the amazon, where I will begin