Sometimes you almost get a punch in.
Then you may go for days without even seeing him,
or his presence may become a comfort
for a while.

He says: I saw you scrambling last night
on your knees and hands.

He says: How come you always want to be
something else, how come you never take your life
seriously?

And you say: Shut up! Isn’t it enough
I say I love you. I give you everything!

He moves across the room with his hand
on his chin, and says: How great you are!
Come here, let me touch you, you say.

He comes closer. Come close, you say.
He comes closer. Then. Whack! And
you start again, moving around and around
the room, the room which grows larger
and larger, darker and darker. The black moon.