I wake. 
I wake often at 3:37. Desires inspired 
in Illuminated darkness
and hunger.
I want ice cream
with you.
Half asleep,
wholly consumed, vacant dreams,
your voice shows through.
Unusually delusional.
Familiar image,
tussled hair,
threadbare kimono
and comfort.

Quiet.
Front stoop shadow at 3:56. I show up
with ice cream and excuses. 
You with questions, and
sleep in your eyes.
Silently nothing happens.
Lawns hiss, lamppost shines on
streets bereft of motion.
Come closer.
Dreadfully dead humidity 
and well-weathered wicker
leaves an 
impression on
bare legs.

Hush.
You stultify my banter, caution me not 
to laugh so loud or I’ll wake up 
the neighbours.
I tell you I don’t care 
who hears us or 
who sees us 
through this heat.
The ice cream 
is melting. 4:24, 
you take 
the spoon and the last mouthful
dribbles down
your chin.

Compulsion.
Not caring, or even daring, that neighbours 
might find you on top of a shadow 
naked 
on the front lawn at 4:37.
Ice cream tub 
discarded on the grass.
Liberated illumination.
Spoon still 
in your 
mouth, you are
radiant
and dripping 
on me.

© 2017 j.g. lewis