My love, why are you still dreaming
of the Madonna I don't want to be?
Why are you standing at the window
with your back to the woman
who wants to take care of you?

Do you see only short circuits
in the depths of the city, car in
car out, while you want a woman
who is above that, averse
to backseat fiddling?

Why do you dream
of escaping? What makes
her nest, my affection a cage?
Why do you dream
of Mona Lisa?

Is there no power there?
Is it only sparking, faintly
somewhere between your belly
and your head? Does it spark
with her too? You hope?