It is for you I put the children to bed.
Or, come. I will keep the house awake for you.
The floor is fluttering with tongues.
I step through and you step after me
laughing,
these are toys.
Isn’t it obvious how we’ve changed?
I have no more use for pure feeling.
You escape directly behind my head.
Little vitrines in the closed museums
not being looked at
I would die to be their objects.
The children left me.
You say they came.
What could you possibly do for my body
when I am in two
separate rooms,
breathing?