Dreamlessness

I would like to write you a poem

Yet they tell me it is not the season for such things

My lips hesitate and withhold a thousand promises

“Come back to our country”

But who knows now of what country I speak?

Dreamlessness, planning not to be hungry

and never being satisfied.

I am restless and yet can only be paralysed

Whilst I lean against your soft unspoken skin

and look for the address that I have somehow lost

The house where we used to evade the thought of

time.