I never know when to expect you
which way you will go
I think you will drop
when I'm not looking
into my clothes

you travel down the curve
of the bathtub rim, front legs tapping
like an old blind man
you go around the curve, out of sight
fast as a sportscar
then come back, the same tapping

your roads invisible as dreams
cling to my face
if I sleep again they
haul me back to nightmares
like a prize fly

your webs invisible, sticky
as guilt

Previously published and copyrighted in Rapport 7 (3#1)
All rights reserved.

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