The runes writ on your blouse’s buttons
transmit a story to my fingers.
I’ll relate it to you as we follow on
with the recipe we’re making.
There is magic in the baring,
courage in its antonyms.
Each requires the other in turn,
each lover to their own measures.
Let me braid your hair by sunlight,
a fitting reverse of how it drapes
across my eyes and waiting lips
in the meager candles’ gentle glow.