Christy's Sleep

like a dancer with a walking stick, i wait for dawn to crawl, heroically, from your womb, strong and noble as a caring man can. with murder on his breath, and filth below his toes. when winter eats the last desserts, and heaven washes the sheets where we both used to lay. i sometimes want to say something after the desire to say is gone. every time i taste my blood, like wax paper melted thick in bubbles behind my tongue, i think of birth of words. and what knifed silence holds in store. like a man left in the rain, for nights, a chewed cigar, damp with sickness that survived the dew, i hold the door for you, and only you, wake up everywhere i call home. every venture is a straight jacket for our love. when you try to think, when you wait and say, "just wait." my heart always says, no. i cannot wait, but for you i wait.... until the world that you invent sees that i and i alone, have caught the water in my steps, and left the unicorn a horn to call her mother, and her pets, when nothing else is wrong. so put your pretty fingers in the ink that i have bled. and tell our precious fortunes in the cards that stick like blood to your cautious hands, and soothes, like art, but truth, your fretting head. and rest.