The white sheet of sleep
stretched taut
falls to the arrowheads of your cries
(black sheep laughing at the end of my dreamstring)
that hand – yours or mine?
the hair in my mouth
the breath wet on my cheek
(small and quick woolsteam)
it would be love making,
but that’s already done
and now you’re here
(vernix slipping unabashed all three bags full)
the world’s darlings
writhing howling in my arms
with your curls akimbo
(yes sir yes sir)
it takes hours for
that moonshine cloud
to spread across us
(the little boy who lives down)
calm is
tucked at the edges
and wrinkled – only – by ourselves.
(the master and his dame)