A QUESTION OF SLEEP
A QUESTION OF SLEEP
Too hot to sleep,
lying in bed late night creak
of the stairs;
as if someone was
walking there.
Somewhere far off a coyote
howls at the full moon,
which shadows
the room in its
reflected adobe glow.
The smell of mesquite
drifting through the air;
three o’clock too much
Cuervo Gold.
Or was it that
girl’s memory
burning in my brain;
the shake of
her hips keeping the beat with those
castanets?
In this vast emptiness
that brims with light,
if we were ships we would
surely sink
in the heat of the night.
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