As you sleep, words
stream from your lips like the post-coital
sighs of a Model T automobile
still delirious from the soft caresses of silk
stockings, hooks, snaps, bare knees.
It’s nonsense really " what you say out loud:
Yes, yes, I’ll take that one...
If you lie beside the elephant, the dust will fall on your hair…
I brush your forehead with the faithful gentleness
of an archeologist, eager for your skin to reveal your
dreams like hieroglyphics. But
I know your secrets hide deep in the blue
of your eyes, the blue which I like to pretend is
mine, as you sleep.
I feel sick.
As you sleep, I want to tell you, I love you, but
how can I? When being with you has turned everything I know of love
awry. Bit by bit you’ve taken away all my meaning. I have
no reference points but your blue and your sleepy
nonsense that makes me smile in ways
I’ve given up trying to define. So instead
I kiss your eyelids and whisper:
Ah, you’ll take that prostitute, will you?
But won’t the elephant’s wife get jealous?