These days I can hardly keep
my eyes open, barely a slit
reading only one line
before succumbing again
to the wonderful warm sleep.
But I am paid to sit straight,
an angular face under gelled hair
tight clothes, polished shoes,
looking through cathedrals
made of numbers, not faith.
The busy-ness of every day
is robbing me of my family,
my thoughts lines from TV
my arguments another man's
twisted mental foreplay.
Yet in my dream, a remanent
of a brash youth falling in love
with lovely pale eyes, soft skin,
a gentle man for the first time
gauche trying to repent.
Jam06
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