The curve of your ass in the night

full of stars, the sounds

from the street, the light
from the cars. Each hour

that passes exceeding

the last; we sleep and sink
deeper into the past. Blink —

and you’ll know who I was

before we met. Tell me your dreams,
where you haven’t gone yet.

And tell me your youth — was it slow,

like mine? Tell me you waited there
all this time. Tell me your sorrows,

give me your heart. O tell me your life —

I’ll trade it for art.