Turn that Heartbeat over Again


I dream a whale's dream of your
pink tongue.  The air fairly
sizzles with inosculation.
It's just a note, a combination of
letters.  Underneath it is a sigh,
a moistness, a desire to say that
today I am full of you, yet so far
away that saying your name into
the wind is a fool's game, a child's
belief in magic.  And, in the
end, when the dark has turned the
nightstand chiaroscuro, there is
still your pink tongue, a calling card.