Betsy Robin Schwartz

when I close my eyes

and press my fingers

on the lids

I see

patterns

and light

bright light

that calls me to burn

when I close my hand

around the night

I feel

your firm flesh

press against my palm

pulsing purple

twitching

along my life line

when I drift asleep

I hear

your voice

in the phone

on my ear

eagerly offering

a dream surge

that expands the bandwidth

when I open my mouth

yawning

as the room

folds dark

tier after tier

I taste

the dusk of creases

you hide from strangers

when I lie under you

with my nose pressed

into the bed

I smell

a thousand bodies

rising in the linen

counting the rhythm

of wet walls

when I am conscious

I sense it is all the same dream