Your Bed

Entering the field of radiation
of your room
the warmth pinches like
substation coils
hums like tongues
quenched by saltwater

It's a yert
of dance and jester gibe
and you sleep.
Black barred
circus cages and
all surfaces become mirrors
to confined quarters
of shared muscle and sweat.

Your breath sings
skeletal lieder.
The next act is where
jumbled projects
rise as you snooze

Any solitude around you
is the recitative
about the last time
I froze innocently
in front of specific
rose gold expanses,

Geiger counter readings
charting and
crackling with hot linen
my eyes to past fixity
my well-wet mouth
at the beginning of returns,
adapting to
spans twenty years wide.