Sohbet
The universe is tangled in your hair.
I try to unravel it with sweaty
fingers. A gray silence crept in awhile
ago and it is draped over us. We
breathe it in but we are having
a supreme conversation. Our eyes
discuss politics in intervals of blue
and black. Your leg tells mine its
hairs tickle. Hands swap electrons
while foreheads whisper secrets
and so forth. We must never stop
this, I say for real, as your perfume
escapes up my nostrils. Honeysuckle.
You wince, thinking I will sneeze.
Your hair lies knotless on the
pillow now. Nothing is a mystery
anymore and I am in love with your
rhetoric. A truck backfires
outside. A baby robin chirps for its
breakfast. When it grows dark again
the half-naked moon will look like
butter. We will talk about it.
