On my Bed Thinking about You
You are voiceless, buried
in a long-forgotten childhood hideaway,
a dark jungle where every tree
looks like every other tree.
I long for your scent,
your knees pushing against my thighs,
but what is asked for is often destroyed
by the very words that seek it.
It is time for me to crack open
my skull, invent a new way of looking at you.
I know I am dying but why
should that make a difference?
I will build you a fortress that will stand forever,
with a smile folding at the corner of my mouth,
and a star sitting on the tip of my tongue,
a lit stone around which your body can blossom.
My bed will no longer be the fossilized prison
where I learned to make love to you forever.