The nightmares do not suddenly

develop happy endings

I merely step out of them

as a five year old scientist

leaves the room

where he has dissected an alarm clock

Love wears out

like overused mirrors unsilvering

and parts of your faces

make room for the wall behind

If terror needs my round green eyes

for a masterpiece

let it lure them with nude key-holes

mounted on an egg

And should Love decide

I am not the one

to stand scratching his head

wondering what wall to lean on

send King Farouk to argue

or come to me dressed as a fast