Song Of The Peeping Tom
The essential Mosquito repellant
On summer oven nights
When the lenses can fog like smudged chalkboards
And shirt-tail erasers are raised
From this darkroom of dank oak,
oleander, and wet soil
I greet you, my love
With detached binocular intimacy.
Your routine bed preparations are haikus
of petals opening, freshly peeled tangerines,
and angels heralding,
heightened by you believing
you recite them to yourself alone.
Your candy skin kissed by lamplight
Your chestnut hair swaying like satin curtains
Brief moments of breast and pubic shadow are sacred
gifts. I utter prayers of deepest gratitude,
for these sights bring us together, like massive ropes
pulling the freighter to the dock.
And I am the longshoreman
downloading the sequence unfolding nearly always the same
Even checking your clock is a special measure in the sonata.
I know these rituals as well as you
And my love has entered your atmosphere unknown
and unseen like microbes dusting and dancing about you.
With neither arguments nor sour moods, I can
have you as I imagine you.
Sleep tight, my love, and
God bless this window for your deliverance unto me.