Galapagos

once more,
Billy is singing me to sleep.
and desperately
I try to be lost in the fabric
that he has woven
for me to hear.

Tonight
This is what I choose to believe;
that I am not myself
but merely a memory
made to liberate
trapped notes
in his untouched past
and his forgotten future.

I am the lady then,
years back.

the present apple
that he breathes

the pale ghost
of christmas future -

this is all me
when I chose
not to be myself,
but his summoned muse.

And I hear his songs

and in his pain I hear my pain
only tonight,
I choose it to only be his
and without question, he agrees.

and in gentle calmness
of fake comfort
and illegible escapes-
daydreams
real dreams
and all in between,

the echoes of his voice carry me -
and for that moment, I am free.

and I sleep

In celebration of my silent victory.