This Sweet Envelopment

Your dream again exceeds its bandwidth
and creates another human sandwich
and whoever you are with is blue, again,

and you are pink, again, you think – at least,
the last time, surely, this was true. Long hair –
you do remember that – but male or female?

This sweet envelopment does not appear
to fuss much over this detail: apparently
it’s less the point than that the slumber

within slumber of the scene anoints you with
a tendrilled and intense familiarity, warm sheen
of skin on skin condensed from something

deeply known: that in the large resource
from which the two of you have generously
grown reside the closest chances you’ve

yet come upon to answering the song inside:
or what you think, now, waking, might have
been a song though you're no longer sure 

you ever heard it. It isn’t bad to sleep alone:
you pretty much prefer it. But if the chance
comes up again, perhaps you won’t defer it.





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