You watch over me -- you swaddled my weeks in the twilight.
You guard me against the contrasts of fire and murk.
I slink between days, between the opposite colours.
I hide in the tints which glimmer, the shades which dissolve.
The middays don't burn my wooden eyes in the oven.
The midnights don't lay my flesh in its own freezing ash.
My ears do not hurt to hear the brass of the silence.
My voice does not break by holding the words I don't say.
I watch with your eyes my languid weeks of siesta --
My breasts full of twilight, opening nipples for lips,
The blades of my legs between the light and the shadow,
Between words and silence, slinking, between you and me.