Lying in bed I think about you

Lying in bed I think about you

your ugly empty airless apartment

and your eyes. It’s noon, and tired

I look into the rest of the awake day

incapable of even awe, just

a presence of particle and wave,

just that closed and deliberate

human observance. Your thin fingers

and the dissolution of all ability. Lay

open now to only me that white body,

and I will, as the awkward butterfly,

land quietly upon you. A grace and

staying. A sight and ease. A spell

entangled. A span. I am inside you.

And so both projected, we are now

part of a garden, that is part of a

landscape, that is part of a world

that no one believes in.