Turn that Heartbeat over Again
I dream a whale's dream of your
pink tongue. The air fairly
sizzles with inosculation.
It's just a note, a combination of
letters. Underneath it is a sigh,
a moistness, a desire to say that
today I am full of you, yet so far
away that saying your name into
the wind is a fool's game, a child's
belief in magic. And, in the
end, when the dark has turned the
nightstand chiaroscuro, there is
still your pink tongue, a calling card.