I meet people we talk about our lives

take off our clothes try to survive

 

living between pillow and clock

occasionally fooled into waking up

 

I want everything you know in my arms now

I need your imagination here 

 

I work hard sometimes It's not enough

the world’s screaming in a crib

 

I’ll see you again when 

hours turn into minutes

into a stream of desire 

that never skips its rhythm 

 

stomachs haunt us out of dreams

sex take us to the beginning

 

minds insist we shouldn't feel this good

in voices that sound familiar

 

it sounds desperate it sounds hidden

it’s on our faces to be read in our ears to listen 

 

our bodies write the poetry 

our mouths make other decisions