We’re not allowed to go there in the grey zones where bodies merge with faces and eyes hint at moonlight.

It is forbidden to sit with swirls of the night’s memory smiling back at me
or the wish to linger in a swoon.

The bed is comfortable with remembering of you. The night lives behind my eyes
as the day swirls in a cold, bright wind.

Watching TV relaxed as movement echoes through me.

Love

Love,
it is that thing which binds us into the world.
Lets us see blindness and obscurity and
how these are powerless to mystery.
We surf as slaves on a stream of her imagining.
She invites us to become the stream and the imagining and to become unto her.
Into her.
Through softer streams of hair and rivulets of wounds,
tightly wound within and into one another,
a delicate tread.
Her mouth is open and receiving.

Are you suffering to love?
Or is she already moving through and for you?
Have you coped with the boundlessness of every desire
curved infinitely and washing through you,
an exquisite dream?

Iconography

I am OK. I was just thinking then that you and I were different colours in a dream and the two of us made quite a pattern but it was not the one I expected, it was the colour of Saturn and you’d been drinking Daiquiris again.