What a miracle you are!
Three thousand miles away
Breathing on the phone
Bubbling with poetry
Sparkling with neurosis
Hermitlike, vulnerable
Bathroom habits carried out
With military precision
Fondling your hyacinth
And peach poison oleander
No smell to your skin
No taste to your breath
Only your unbearably broken
Eyes haunting me in a photograph
Masturbating to the song
Of the things you'll do to me
In a San Francisco hotel room
On wet rented sheets
Room service, hold all calls
We'll have French toast
With raspberries
And smoked salmon
For naked breakfast
Sponge each other down
In a claw-footed tub
Steal the soaps and towels
And never speak again.