The Waking

twenty eight.

The paleness of you, 

Quiet desert world outlined 

In moonlit sheets 

And quiet this world breathe

While the sand storms that run fast and clean 

Beneath cloud-rippled skies 

Run somewhere 

Behind the lids of your eyes 

I follow the skeletons

The sand washed 

Sun bleached 

Animal bones in your back 

Wrapped 

Neatly in freckled leather 

With my ice-licked finger tips

And too small 

I draw close 

Beneath the sleep-warmed 

Hand unfolded at my neck 

And to the expanse of your chest --

I am restless beside your rest.