the carpet

there are two lovers on the carpet-
mon amant, la clef � mon coeur.
no doubt rilke told it better,
but he did not have this lover.

lover keeps his phone on at night,
for the call i never make,
since he chased the ghosts away...
and if he only sees my best side,
it's because he won't walk on the other.

pourtant, i highly doubt,
poetic lovers,
quarrel in supermarkets.
we wanted to fill each other's stomachs up
like jewish grandmothers
(they say we have the look)
but it got lost in concern.

remember the night at the beach, lover?
where we each made two bagels
and ended up with four.
i stood with a stranger, and wished for you.
you watched, playing to the wind.

carpet-friend,
laugh between kisses with me.
whisper; "this is how it should always be..."
i could remain here,
buried beneath his body...

there are two lovers on the carpet-
mon amant, la clef � mon coeur.
et par cons�quent,
je ne veux pas un autre.