My Candle, My Light

Here is my deception,
made for the sake of my
billowing tenderness, my
big, bottom-heavy heart:

I can see just fine

the moon is full and thrumming,
light pooling on the tiles like
dropped satin, spilled cooling silver

but I take your outstretched hand
nevertheless, and let you lead, simply

because I love the gentleness
of your fine, tinkerer's fingertips,
and the way
our pulses beat together
soft as doves wings-
each quiet throb
strumming itself towards true
incandescence
as we tiptoe our way through the dark,
stepping between moonbeam
and shadow.