Sleeping With You
You sleep without a sound. My legs twitch.
Your hair is dark with luxury.
You sleep something stolen.
I sleep two guys, one given, one taken
so I'm quiet, no announcements.
You have gone to bed with me past
the verge of kissing
into this night on the cold river, the sorrowed hills
with bats zapping bugs above the pond,
the tawny soundless deer all somehow knowing
we're careful not to bet our luck.
for Suzanne
© Copyright 2005 Peter Chapman