[ poetry - may 09 ]
All night your dreams dance like peacocks,
their feathers burning blue.
It takes more than my touch to reach you,
though you burn in my bed like a bonfire,
unsmothered by my embrace, the slightest
flicker of your breath setting my limbs ablaze.
Afterwards, I search my skin for scorch
and find none, only the slow fuse of my pulse,
the gutter and spark of my veins,
the torches of my hands that I raise
to hold you, that you escape like smoke.
When day comes, I watch the sunlight take
you, sleeping, in his arms, and wait
for the morning to burst into flames.