We Have Made

We have made this
cave, you and I. With brushed
cotton and sweat; with our humid
breath. To ward off drafts and the seeping
December damp. To bar the orange glow
of our lunar streetlamp as it creeps
through the cracks between curtain and warped
wall. We have

made this heat. Moving. With friction. Between
my breasts, in the small
of my back, the skin drips. Your lapping
tongue finds salt.