Thinking of My Body in Love

It's a kind of beautiful thing, a box
whose contents express something wholly

excessive, like a diamond or ironed
linens. Not the utilitarian packaging

of recycled napkins or sugar peas; not the type
of box whose contents urge making,

like origami paper, ant farms, and oil
paint. It's the type of body that makes

a sound like night-breathing when you
touch it, that unembarrassed breath

heard only by lovers watching their beloveds
in the darkness. This body in love

sees your body, not the way a box perceives
its contents, with a blind, inward knowing,

but the way the recipient of a gift peels back
tissue paper and gasps, not because the offering

warrants it, but because the body in love anticipates
surprises, the way a bird sleeps, lightly.

Copyright © 2002 Nikki Moustaki All rights reserved
from Spoon River Poetry Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission