Say Anything #55
May 29, 2000

Exhausted by words
in a box
our bodies lazy on a Sunday
morning bed
tangled in cryptic sheets
of words unsaid
my dog a shiftless swirl at my feet
we lay
our bodies like over ripe fruit
our mouths smaller in the morning
and speak quiet words that are unhurried
and unfeigned
looking down from the ceiling
our bodies seem to fold and bend
like crumpled dinner napkins
while I pretend not to notice
how our knees gently touch
when you exhale

ceiling stars,
disarmed and stilled by the sun
hemmed between walls the color of candlesticks
my fingers twirled your hair into black flames
and you told me
that I talk in my sleep
and I smiled
because I know
I am too full
to say nothing