The cicadas are singing, in a roaring cacophony of voices
Barely muted, by the whirring of the fans, the unwatched movie,
Your breathing slow and sleepy steady
Your heart beat warm by my ear
The air like a blanket surrounding us.
I name the colours of your eyelashes
The golden tones of you
And watch the shapeless dreams wander over your lids.
But that old complaint
Louder with each moment, each day
Demands an audience
And I cannot deny hearing it
Just as I cannot deny
The cacophony of voices,
The cicadas singing.