The scent of the moon on your skin
Filled with oranges and coffee
The loaded veins of your arms
Filled with messages
As you sleep streetlights crawl
Across your sheets like reptiles
And are caught shimmering in the soft skin
beneath your eyes
The clock ticks like a heavy breather

When morning comes
As we prepare the coffee
I, of course, say nothing of this
Preferring to keep you a secret
Even from yourself

[Claude Taylor/poem] [Joanna Taylor/drawing]

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© copyright Thin Ice Press 2007
© copyright Claude Taylor 2007
© copyright Joanna Taylor 2007