dreams are sweet / men are kind (until they aren’t)
Well you were right about him
it takes years to bury a phantom dog
when it runs away to die
not quite sure if
he ever looked me in the mouth
in the underworld,
the seeds took, and died away
on my rocky spine
I read too much into
a baby’s warm head in the crook
of my dream,
a moon crowning
through the taut sky
- in my mind I’m the one
still putting ice on your bonfire burns
one kiss of my wet hair
to your bare shoulder
the dew blurring our haloes
pacing the gravel with flimsy shoes
my soul dilating with
a smear of constellations
but no rest under the white marquee
coming of age in the torch-light
you were right
about him,
the dog won’t come back
