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