how better
to spend the day while
she sleeps peacefully
but listening to music

the Beatles
in particularly.
Catching a glimpse
occasionally

of her beautiful
peacefulness
wondering
does she dream of me

when I hear
Good Day Sunshine
I ache

to wake her up

in the secluded shell
            of night
   crimson lips unseal
                                                                ­  
 cosmic stillness stirred
   flower ripples tinted
    with touches tender
      on quivering skin
                                                            ­      
       in moon’s breast
     burns a fire tonight
the primeval fire of passion
              in it melt              
   crystals of our emotions
               pristine  

            a night-sky
            bliss-soaked
             bejeweled

  stars hanging complicit

i come from a city of sleeping
ghosts that do not remember
where they were born: i keep
raw honey in the attic of my
mother's mother's funeral
home so somehow they
will learn to be bittersweet -
i only need them when
i'm craving tea, i think i'll
die before learning to sleep
without flowers and sugar
pressed to the cave of my mouth
as a raven hiding from
man's shadow
and the
night.

if only your watercolour
could stain my hands

a residual mark
of the love that we could share

but all i'm left to do
is dream of something

that isn't there