Some nights
somebody dies
in my dreams
The undertaker sweeps my bed
before preparing breakfast
Some nights merely
ferry me away
passenger to the grave,
washed in sleep at morning’s edge
dredge my heart from weeping silt,
split sunrise breaths into suitcases
Desire wears jewels over its wounds,
empty shoe box became a reliquary
for coloured blood and postcard treasure,
peeling potatoes meal for one
kitchen sink waves could drown me,
it’s hard to scrub diamonds with bare hands
and by the way, stray was always the way
we measured the stretch of pier to cliff crumble
A sunrise 150 poems ago
may the next undress your verbs,
151 and my hands open your dawn’ing legs;
it won’t be a librarian who desecrate our bodies:
kiss to kiss : breath to breath
Some nights
someone fucks in my dreams
Powerfully penned, Ghosteen. An excellent write with lots of layers my friend. Nicely done as always. Appreciate you.
Damian