Inside
Your heart
is a foot pedal
on an airbed
pumping away,
as I feel your first kick
at this late hour.
My hand on the hillock;
a creeper on a gravid marble sphere.
Can you hear my voice
inside that colloidal world?
Was that a punch
against the dark cloud?
Our nocturnal colloquy
hastens into eruptive silence.
What nub enfaced the shell?
A shrimpy knee perhaps.
We exchange parts in the dark.
A string of berried vertebrae;
A knolled skull; a timorous elbow.
Only nature’s secret blind spot knows.
Over time there will be more
mute and balletic musculature;
but tonight we sleep as three,
cudgelling the dark for contact.
Stefan Parker: Born in Germany and residing just north of the M25. Daily practitioner of poetry in all forms. Once published fifteen years ago and never tried again. Fine-tuning the form ever since.