come back to bed
walk my hallways,
upon my shoulder sleep,
rest in my nooks
soft, well worn, cosy crannies,
let your face go slack,
get back jack,
to where you always belong

I know too well
what ails thee,
know no answers easy
to be found
walking around
an old creaky house's
groaning discordant mystery sounds

do come back to bed
I'll call you babe,
kiss those temples
rock 'n rolling,
soothing them with
adagio classics from
the 1950's and 60's

I'll think of something
just back,
bed bunk, mate,
with me
your roommate of the sole
****** sunset years

let you write poems
on my tummy,
gurgling with the pleasure of
skin and words
tender entwining,
just come
back to bed,
pillow deep,
fund the sleep
your desperate need,
from my countenance and body,
yours,
no needy for asking,
just the just
taking what you're needing,
be my human,
be my child,
and come back to bed,
my very own

still crazy man
after all these years,

before leaving me
sleepy smiling,
from a job well done
with the fluids
of our
co-joinery

that ease,
however brief,
thy tempested brow
one less line,
one less worry

“I cannot be what I ought to be, unless you are what you ought to be, and you cannot be what you ought to be unless I am what I ought to be.”*.    
Martin Luther King



tonight, saw a woman
dance to these words...

body precision pinpoint akimbo shaking,

testifying with every limb,
this be, a sensible truth....
the music of the words,

no music
but the words, uttered in his kingly voice,
that
was the only instrument present,
more than sufficient...


long after, the theater dark,

audience and dancers,

dispatched onto the

New York City dark despairing winter's icing streets,

I am tasting them on my tongue,

out loud as they should be spoke....


not going to essay, meaning plain,

not going diminish their simplicity....


but this I can say,

this will feed my consciousness,

a long time coming....
and I will be
that much
closer
to who
I
ought to be