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