The only thing that matters

I dream of days that turn to nights with my eyes none the wiser
of windowsills forgotten by all except the siren call of ashtrays
who would choose the world out there
full of rage and greed and so much uncertainty

when in this room bereft of walls there is no room for anything but her
Stretching from wall to wall
She watches
And sees all the things I miss in mirrors
and whispers them
soft enough
you'd beg the air between her lips and your ear to quiet down

There's no place for breathing here
A sigh, a moan, a giggle surely
But nothing so crass as means of living
that's for times profoundly more mundane
where art can't hold breath hostage
and words can't brush against your skin
like feathers practiced in the art of dancing

This bed is not for things as lonely as living
it's for smiles kept safe within tickling fingers
and love locked away
from anything that isn't her
it's not even a place for me
it's the stage where she performs
Her part in the only thing that matters