why is this city
where to shout
is a risk,lest all wake up, so
in days lived only past midnight till
morning,alerted
with every flicker of the senses
theres a secret longing
to speak and be spoken to
with sibilant whisper and sly wink
built in haste is an intimacy
that rests if only momentarily
in hyphens
days begin and days blink out their fatigue
like by the riverside,lanterns on country boats
fragile when silent
elegiac with eyes closed
it is in the cadence of her speech that
she supplies dreams with a convenient universe