The Convalescent: L'éphémère

pt. 5



Drops of me
fall like rain against the bed sheets;
the stereo keeps singing
fills this room with
soft
Canadian hands playing piano songs,
my fingers in your hair...

In love
and not in love
beneath a cloud of bourbon dreams,
there are stars spread across my palm
like dew,
like beads of honey
glistening in the afterglow
of all our quiet smiles,
fingers and traced lines...

Me,
this man who still dreams
the same children's dreams,
awash in the sound of breath
like an ocean's soughing,
in the sound of a silent
January night,
I am content;

all those lonely ghosts gone silent.