An early morning exile from her bed,
I slip on yesterday’s shirt, am distracted by
her strewn Sacchi dress, half-smoked cigarette.
Seven o’clock: temptation lies
Under a sensual satin-skin sheet,
Classically sculptured Carrara marble.
The way the moon bursts through skylight
Illuminating Costanza, dreaming of me?
I could be her amante, go on living like this.
Assured suffering for my future self,
For, in this telling moment, my sole intimation
Is what would Dylan Thomas do?
Slave to her scent, I disrobe again,
Discarding layers of diffidence,
Fuse my being back into her flesh.
Silencing the chaos, at least for a while
And, like neatly-forged silver spoons, we lie
Coupled until nine, in this otherworldly place.
Aligning each heartbeat, chiseling time
Her lips are mine, for now I shall dream
Of all that we could have been in another life.
