Fools in the Dark

Brush against my shoulder. Gently, gently, friend or curtain in the wind. Light a candle, I’m not looking. And when all the lights have dimmed: come comb through the thicket of my armpits, string the pearly, sweaty beads on a necklace, moonlit, shining, showing me my self-deceit. Hanging from the lintel’s lip, I will catch the morning sun. But for now, brush, gently, gently and call me dear foolish one.