Unposed

The window pane, black mirror

after midnight, caught me

on the couch, a heap.

Shoulders curved forward,

neck bent, head a dropped fruit.

One foot bare, tucked

beneath the other thigh,

the fabric of the old jeans

stretched tight across a knee.

No one to see the slight tremble

in the hand that held the remote,

or the way the breath

caught just a little

before letting go.

This is the shape

the body makes

when it forgets

it's being looked at.

Just settling into itself,

a little worn,

a little loose.