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
Subscribe to The Iranian newsletter
Sign up for our daily newsletter to get the top news stories delivered to your inbox.