Belly full of gratitude held tightly
to your chest, you will be brought, strapped to a board,
to an expectant place by an as yet unknown wind.
Toothless, you poke at my heart
every three hours in a dreamstate, your lips
pursed to kiss the cherubim that are an unshared secret;
I fancy myself a secret-sharer though I am, in truth,
simply a receptacle akin to a plastic bottle or a casket.
(You too will become a simple light bulb, abandoning
these days of neon waves without understanding. It is a fruit-bearing cycle.)
You live in a fortified moment
while I, joyfully, pump myself dry.