my body is like a just played harp with the memory
of a man who came in a dream
i woke up
he was in my bed, and long and soap colored, and i kissed him
he said not here
in the bathroom, not the bedroom
against the whiteness of the wall
at six o clock in the morning, softly moaning
softly calling
with my mother in the next room
with my mother in the next room
i tasted all the plains of his body
fresh as bread
clean as cream