Window, Not Sky
We dreamed and a bird flew
into our bedroom window
like a heavy book
dropped in the dark.
Not a crack appeared
in your eyes but this
lingers in me like that dream
when we were in bed and you spoke
with Her mouth
at my shivering dick
saying, “I love you, I know what you love.”
Even dreaming I knew this was wrong
but my dick is a simple machine, a straw.
Her mouth was hot as blood
and as you slept she cut me open, smiled
and swallowed so hard I had to pull
your gold hair apart and kiss your cheeks
as if I’d never loved another, as if I knew
you would die. So now I can’t fall
back to sleep and wake you up
the slow way in which I’d fix you a bath.
We go outside. The grass is damp and gets caught
between our toes and we find this bird,
his neck broken by clear,
sunlit sky – more like a fish
than a bird. His wings folded
behind his back in prayer. His body below
a window hard as waking, sharp as grass.
First published in B O D Y, July 2013