that we might retire in time
you would read books on religion
I would write poetry full time
how impossible in Singapore
although we hunt for time
you read over lunches or late at night
I write when my boss isn’t looking
in that real dream of our past
we had nothing but time
you watched your documentaries
I dreamt of poems on your lap
in a quickening dream of now
we turn away from the fringes of time
you read while stroking my nape
I slow your hand in my poem’s last line
when strung together in a particular fashion.
Nincsenek megjegyzések:
Megjegyzés küldése