It's a cold day.
My city feels wounded by
The light rain that falls.
On days like this,
She would ask me to open
A window. We would listen to
The pelting on the tin roof across our
Apartment. The light that came in showed
The bruises on her legs from where
Pleasure fell off its trapeze at two a.m.
We would fall asleep in each other's embrace,
Waking from an image of a child tugging at his mother’s breasts with baby soft lips, Waiting for the milk of life to fill him.
Her dreams are normal—
A dog, a home, children.
I wake up, and look
around the room for
that child wearing scuffed cowboy boots,
playing with his sister’s naked Barbie doll.