Aubade (Lisa Lisa Lisa)
       

Sometimes I kiss the inch
of air above your body
warmed by your skin.
Or I feel your heat
from across the room
where I stand stiff
as a robot in the metallic
air of moonlight, hand flat
against the windowpane
as if to feel light pass
through glass. Why
am I still that robot,
aware of what I can't feel?
If I say your name
three times my voice
becomes a meadowlark's,
not the sad creak
of a mechanical man.
So here I am with wings—
here I am, a robot boy
and his dream of singing.
I watch you sleep and feel
the light cool against
my hand, my hand
that soon will warm itself
with your body
as I search again for what
I know is there:
a tattooed lark sketched
in the curve beneath
your hip, the notes
of a song trailine
around your waist like
the frailest belt,
"hymns at heaven's gate"
that you and I can hear
though only at daybreak
and only as we kiss, preparing
once again to part,
promising to return.
I promise. Please tell me
you promise, too.

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Copyright © 2017 James Harms All rights reserved
from Rowing with Wings
Carnegie Mellon University Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission