Come Over

Two words on the screen at eleven at night,
Blue glow of the phone and my blood running bright,
Come over, she typed, and the period at the end,
Hit harder than anything a full paragraph could send

I am already pulling on my boots before the second thought,
Already checking mirrors, already overwrought,
With the anticipation of her doorway and her hall,
Come over, two words, and I answered the call

Come over, the holiest two-word prayer,
Come over, and I am already there,
In my head, in her hallway, in the dark of her front door,
Come over, and I am not keeping score

The drive is fourteen minutes if I take the highway clean,
Fourteen minutes of imagining the space between and between,
Her opening the door in what she sleeps in, warm and messed,
Come over, and I am already undressed

I pull up to her curb and the porch light flickers twice,
Her signal that the door is open, do not knock, be precise,
About the quiet, about the entry, about the leaving before dawn,
Come over, and every rule I had is gone