You lying beside me pillow propped breathing big dreams; what races within your skin-city of the sleepless? Streets that turn in on themselves until there is no way, no meaning but absurd moments that present and disappear; breakfast with Noddy and Big Ears, Titania’s ass-headed lover threading apple blossom in your hair, confessing your love of Hanuman to a skip-rope school friend. You’ve had such dreams I’m sure and yet the certain rhythm of your breathing, the neat tuck of your limbs, your lover’s clutch on the pillow holds me back. Your hair still tied, the strong line of your brow and your cheek’s gentle curve keep your space and shape even as you meet your creations and forget them. What right do I have to enter where your boat floats without water, where you paddle earnestly still child of the morning, adult of the broken day?


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