And in these tepid hours that pass on by
the clocks will sigh with blear eyes and
noses dragging long into the dust.
I can just barely catch that aching square
caught up in the corner and trace its
precocious corners in the fading of the light.

How long this night shall last will be up
in a coin toss out at a tumultuous sea
so that even if it hits the deck,
rebellious and spinning indecisively,
it would be lost off the starboard before
anyone could even grapple over
the disembodied head
or the low-blowed tail.

Tomorrow I might wake at first dawn’s groan
to the absence of your fingers and the
heavy emptiness of the bed.
With nothing left but that old scar upon my elbow
that reminds me even still of the burning bake,
the sandy grain of a lesser god’s fury
and more currently the teeth beneath a minted love.

I can’t sleep and you’re right next to me.
I won’t dream until you’re gone.