Sleeping
Under the dark warm waters of sleep
your hands part me.
I am dreaming you anyway.
Your mouth is hot fruit, wet, strange,
night-fruit I taste with my opening mouth;
my eyes closed.
You, you. Your breath flares into fervent words
which explode in my head. Then you ask, push,
for an answer.
And this is how we sleep. You're in now, hard,
demanding; so I dream more fiercely, dream
till it hurts
that this is for real, yes, I feel it.
When you hear me, you hold on tight, frantic,
as if we were drowning.
(Carol Ann Duffy tento týden získala cenu T. S. Eliota; více tady a zde.)
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