laying next to you, the moon sighs
through your bedroom-
curtain made of travel brochures &
maps of Egypt. your finger traces
the Nile river, pressed on
the frosted window. the Mediterranean
& Red Sea drip down the nape of your neck.
I start the conversation
as if sharing the telephone close
with you. on the other line,
the sound of two waves creating a peak—
your bad eye glows like a house
at midnight. there is a sound of an animal
scratching somewhere in the walls.
we must be practical. like the moon,
I forget why there are strings tied
around my finger. I pull your shirt
& put my ear against your ribs.
a porcelain bird breaks in your stomach.