At the end of the bed, I count
shadows moving- one of them
in the shape of a flower, bent
towards the window. Another
dances the wall to the rhythm
of music- silent, naked and shoeless-
I wonder, what breathe impales them,
whose thoughts give them life?
You stir next to me- a ripple
of water whose core began
with a small stone thrown, like
flickering light that defines
the shadows I recite
from the darkness of our bed.
I think of hard things that
create soft things, of absorption-
the warmth of a body as it lies
still and burning, whose skin gleams
like tiny moons, gentle and silver
in a sky not unlike our room.
A sky inside our room
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