several sly quips from your luscious lips
aimed above the belt
working somehow in your favor – like
the halting of war, or tax cuts, or financial crises
for future presidents
– serve as a reminder, only half-heartedly,
of the impermanence of a pleasant disposition.
the crooked smile on my dreaming, half-conscious
face is interrupted like a shotgun wedding in the night.
i think i’m awake, confused only because
you looked just as vivid and mouth-watering
behind my eyelids.
now, though, your voice is decidedly real
in harsh bell-tones
chiming
from the tip-top of a gothic cathedral at 6:30 am,
and the authenticity of me layered here between these sheets disappears,
along with the permanence of my pleasant disposition.
