We Are Glass

Through the dusty windowpane of his eyes, he sees her crying,
and thinks, in a gentle awakening, about the pathway
that sex can carry into memory,
to find, so surely, what we had forgotten.
It was a soft fuck, just on the edge of sleep.

She’d been reading, papers from work spread on her lap,
across her legs, as if their bed was a briefcase broken open.
Her thoughts behind her glasses, narrowed.
In his mind, he’d drifted through his own workday for a while,
until thought itself had slipped away, a filled glass toppling over,
slowly, spilling out its gathered water,
to spread, and become ungraspable.

He had dreamed, then, thoughts of work becoming memories of school;
a day when he had held a prism up to a sunny window,
and watched it split the light into bars and streams of running color.
Had she looked at his face, sleeping?
Had she seen in it that thing forgotten,
a time when light could enter into them,
when they saw each other with the lust to each be opened,
to spill everything out from where it had been gathered and hoarded,
and be filled somehow, in that perfect emptiness?

He had dreamed then that the window and prism
had become stained glass, like church when he was young;
he had returned, grown, and an angel from that colored glass
had stepped from the pane, kissed his forehead,
and then breathed into his mouth.
As her lips had left his, he had wakened, to find his wife,
papers pushed to the floor, glasses set aside, gliding downward
to kiss his chest, the muscles of his stomach, to caress his cock,
and take it in her mouth.

Fresh from dream, he had held her close,
as she had returned to kiss him again, to slip herself over him.
Her tears had started then, as they had quietly fucked,
wetting his face, her own buried hard against it.
We forget the brightness sometimes, how it shines into us.
So he holds her, with the peace of remembering
that we can break without being touched.
His own eyes slip shut again, dust washed from the windowpane,
by tender lust, and a glass filled with tears and light.


Poetry Copyright R. Paul Sardanas
Art Copyright Samarel -

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