Torch of Venus 1:
Birdsong
scours the morning
crouches in branches
peers through dreams.
Leaves are splattered
ink against
the creamy blue, neutral
wash of sunrise.
You
elsewhere, sated, tousled,
celluloid dreaming
flickering lids. Arms
stretching, re
compose.
I
elsewhere, awake
between walls. Hearing
life's details,
wary daylight's
subterfuge.