stairs

whenever i am in a stairwell and i look up into that swirl of levels...that snail shell whirl above, like a woman's inner workings, pink and mysterious, no matter the numbers who have traveled there...i find you in my thoughts, our many conversations, held over distance when you couldn't hold me in your arms...you, with your sweet, low, gravel voice...whispering so that your wife wouldn't hear...i thought whispering because it was late....i think of you because the comparison is one you would've made, romantic and crass, one of my favorite traits....your dirty talk, like a poet drunk on sex and cheap wine, threatening me with the deepest love and dirtiest respect....