Be that man
you know the one who will wake up wake me up with a bit of the night skies a slice of the moon glowing alive in his eyes
and in his arms hold slivers of yesterday and today and tomorrow tied together in iridescent pieces and whisper about the caves we have lived in the life last
the skies we have conquered together and flown past
the rivers we have swum in with dolphins and other fish coloured fish bursting against
our limbs
the beaches we have walked sand trickling through toes while you run across and get a tender coconut, water dripping from our mouths as we kiss
and be that man who holds me like I am a feather light slender gorgeous like I am a sculpture heavy with love wonder experiences
and be that man who wants to fuck against the walls of the museum Monet’s lilies and Gaugin’s women watching or on the desk at home
or on the grass near a gentle gurgling stream
and that man who writes long and deep into the night of poetry of the war and peace and knows when to give and when to hold back
and be that man who knows that making love on the windowsill is the best when afternoons are full of drizzling rain in a tropical country
and if not then on the tenth floor watching Christmas lights swarm London city
and knows the best love is had when you are really angry and wanting to rage and bite through the skin and the blackness which is outside
and the way you feel trapped just trapped in your limbs and like in a box and you know despair is solid and growing like dark smoke and all the cries in the world can’t be heard
so be that man who knows how that feels how sound remains in the throat sometimes stuck like a stone lodged deep in clay
and when you speak there is nothing no voice no whisper
and be that man who knows how to rub the small of my back then speak sing and shout primal screams together to mark the day
be that man. My love, just be that man.