He raps his nail against her rooted tooth
Wipes the slime that gleams along her gums.
Bloody lace surrounding lacy blue
Where the eye rebounds against his thumb.
Quit, she says, you're making all the scenery shift–
But could there really be another dream,
Besides a woman-wearing thought in his?
Its own incoming light and faulty wings
Close-behinds and, buried under oceans
Evils held in place with incantations:
Certain words there are which can't be spoken,
And he is clumsy, clueless, lousy with impatience.
But oh if she could know the dream he draws her skin across:
His unhopelessness is a pessimist, her sighs like fragrant songs.
