Last night we slept like soldiers
leaping over the last battlement.
I kicked and cawed and your skin
was no respite from the day,
your touch was a Turkish bath,
sticks lashing my back.
Last night I dreamt of fire escapes,
of Manhattan, of iced coffee cups
pressed against my forehead like
a cold compress: you just relax now,
relax. I did not want to hate you.
I wanted to be breaking through the
contact-lens surface of a cold, cold
lake, I wanted to sink, to sleep,
mud oozing between my toes
but I couldn’t get there.
I dreamt of the furnace, instead.
I dreamt I didn’t sleep.