Sonnet 9 Poem by Anthony Parker

Beautiful: the night—the way streetlights all over
town blossom like electric flowers and hum their
pulse. Boards in the ceiling above us creak like

tired bones—your tongue so alive in my mouth
I memorize the shape of your voice by touch,
your current turning on the lights in every room
of my body. You ache in my throat like a drink

in a long stemmed glass—I could translate you
into languages I’ve never heard by closing my eyes
and exhaling, open them and be met with

understanding. Threads of light rise around
the city and illuminate how the coast could be
mistaken for your leg from hip down, my fingers
a formation of birds gliding toward the ocean.