Give me one more night of liking what I touch,

of holding my hand against wrinkled skin

without knowing when my aging will really begin.

Give me one more night of believing this body is enough,

enough to bet on when faith in love costs so much.

Give me one more night of holding my breath again and again,

to feel my lungs, feel them expand, find pride in nothing thin.

Give me one more night of loving this body so used to disgust.

When I wake in the morning, there will be no parade

of congratulations or well-wishes. There will only be

the quiet rustling of early-birds making homes inside

my window panes. My body will have obeyed

an ancient rule of remembering happiness as a dream.

Give me one more night of seeing my body as light.