Your slender fingers weave the web
As the ring-tone rings I lie in bed.
Hostile whispers from the telephone,
When the key clicks the door, say:
Honey, I’m home.
A poem I do not remember,
A room that I cannot forget.
When I burn the papers they spill, under the bed
letters I have no memory of writing
whisper my name, songs laud and dread.
As they sing me to sleep, caress me,
their small grips force my head.
A heavy hand spins threads entwining, holding
me down, I'm Gulliver.
When your call disrupts the telephone
Open your throat from the depths and roar
Your belligerent pleas of affection.
On your knees weeping the contradiction
of a lover feeding on prey's affliction.
A martyr preaching polluted prayers,
whose words of love are built like fetters.
Kiss my husk and bring it tender,
ever closer to the ember.
Somewhere you linger in seclusion.
Arachnid, languid, lilliputian.
From death-like stupor our lips turn blue.
Split apart your ribs and coo:
Darling, I Love You.
