Sleep Walking

I.

I recall..

I was walking in the streets of the South East

But walking as though beneath layers of water,

Struggling and slow, but un-caring.

There was little color around me,

Perhaps dreams are usually colorless,

But this one was strikingly grey.

It was neon grey.

I walked, clothed but still naked

In my lack of shame and brashness.

I walked, brutal.

Until a hand clenched the skin on one of my hips.

It was a man,

The Lover.

He really took all the skin off my hip,

Kept holding it,

Pressing and saying nonsense in my ears,

Not words

Just sighs and tongue-clicks.

And I enjoyed it.

I was proud of it.

I was proud of walking with him.

II.

We matched as we walked.

Two pairs of legs pacing at one pulse.

Every time our feet hit the ground

Our bodies sort of hung heavy on each of our hips

And our hair flew back and then filled our faces again.

We were confidence.

But our speed slowed

And the heat in my face fell

When the clenching truth

That someone I knew too well

Was walking our way.

The man walking towards us

Is The Father.

And he looks at me, like I’m alone

But I’m not

And he slurs at me without words

Saying: ‘You like it, don’t you?’

‘Don’t you like it? Being bad?’

And I can’t even nod, or shake my head.

I’m dead stuck on staying put

And resting easy.

He’s passed us now.

I don’t turn around.

Don’t turn around.

III.

The Lover and I march on

Before I break the beat and say, all at once:

‘Here, let’s go inside.’

In the church,

It’s humid, like all sanctuaries.

I’m clenching The Lover’s index finger,

Pulling him out of his chest

And then throwing him, almost,

Into a pew.

I kneel.

I’m still holding his finger as he sits.

‘Come here.’

He kneels too.

It wasn’t slow.

I rushed my face into his

And when we did this,

When we did the worst, right there,

He took his index finger

To place it under my ear and bear it down

The neck, under and over the collar bone up until

He had drawn the relief out of my body

And made me up into a map.