your restlessness

tell me something, you say.
(i look up at the fan) tell me
anything nice. (the bed is
comfortable. i need to get the washing
machine repaired.) your breasts
are like two puppy dogs -
some might call them perky, bold,
posey, raunchy, sultry or even
dreamy. but i only want to
rub their little noses with mine.

mmmm, now tell me of my feet.
your feet become a tribal queen (no
pearly soft, wintry white princess
from no fairy tale), worthy of
covering mountains, rivers and
deserts on a palanquin. if i were
the gym going type, i'd carry you too.

hah! and how about my elbow?
your elbow is like the celebrated
strait through which all ships must pass.
Jerusalem in the palm of your hand to
Africa ever unexplored. London bridge lies
all furled up on your bed, see these
pretty pink sailboats cross...


i ask if i snored.
you turn and with
your morning voice, say,
maybe.