I want to move, but
The fear kicks in—of waking him
He obliviously shifts position
And we’re
suddenly
contorted.
Like a sly ninja
My arm hides under the slumbering boy;
Keeping secrets from his neck.
An arm that has lost all sensation--
Crammed beneath his temple.
Yet in the process,
We have built our own fleshy mosque.
Yes, I am beneath you,
(Although I prefer being on top)
Entangled—or should I say entingled?—
With relentless pins jabbing in,
Harder at work now,
Piercing deeper and quicker.
The tingles deter sleep,
But they feel like how the stars look;
(Even though my starry night lacks hydrogen,
helium,
and a dense cloud
Within its life cycle)
And definitely has a great attractor.
20 April 2000-14 February 2001