Your name has its own life
in my mouth:
it roosts, heavy and warm, blinking
slowly in the grey then blue morning.
When the stars fade
I fear I'll lose you, I fear
the lapse of nocturnal desire, I am sure
you will leave me someday, but
this morning I cling
to a faint pink hope that the last time
the sun rose, your voice
in the distance called me home.