More Than The Watchman

More than the watchman waits for the morning, I will bait for you. 

In the synagogues of attraction, I will give you the choicest portion.

Underneath the morning’s teeth, while the others gnash and weep

on the street corners, cleft by praise, my hands will open for you alone.

Oh lamp post! Naked gods above! My heart unravels with this humble plea:

Let my eyes soak here, see, long after I have crumbled as a leaf,

Let my doubting hands touch my lover’s cheek, and believe.

Let it rest there, not fret, even as she wakes in my supple dream.