In somno securitas.
She slid into bed
easy as a knitting needle
into the spine of a hare.
I threw a bag of chalk into
the air
across her body
while she slept.
Little rabbit.
I lit black lights into
action
watched the frenzied prints
emerge
from her breasts, neck, and
thighs,
souvenirs of desire.
I breathed across her tight,
sand-tanned stomach.
Chalk dust blew into her nose
and she awoke.
I asked her
If the man made love to her
with all his might?
Did it feel the same?
Did his beads of sweat fall
upon the necklace I worked for?
Did he extend the milky
antennae of her legs into the air?
Did you tune in God on the
meat hook channel?
She said:
“My dear.
Slow, jealous detective,
Come sleep by me.
These prints are yours
And always yours.
They simply will not wash
away.
You have had your head in
other people’s hands for so long
you forget what your own
touch looked like.”
The faders of twilight
approached.
I curled into her with my
arms,
dead across her ribs,
feeling the rate of her
heartbeat increase
as she wonders if I can feel
a lie through her nightgown.
It is a feeling I get
when ice-skating through the
rising crackles of sunshine.
In sleep, there is safety.