Do You Remember That Night When You Whispered

Do you remember that night when you whispered
to my ears, half-asleep, half-dreaming of sleep,
that everything will be as they are always meant to be?
that the certainty of that night will
cancel the uncertainties of the days.
we were two naked souls, my arms around you,
stroking flesh, painting murals on your soft skin.
that night, a sprocket was removed in the wheel of our lives.
i think of that night as if in a haze - a dream, in a dream of Dream.
a cloud of smoke hovers on our heads and a sensation
of lassitude overwhelms us after that sex: like the lazy heat
after a storm - flies buzzing in our ears.
Do you remember that Tuesday night? when the moon
is an imagined boat, rocking to the steady breath of lovers.
we exhale and inhale at the same time, moving the moon-boat
to the sea of living, dead and dying stars.
And did you see the parting of clouds as the moon-boat
approached them? the open window lets in the sighs of a
thousand broken things. I said to myself: "If only I can remember this night
for the next hundred years." and as if an exhumed god heard me,
took note of my prayer in his moleskin.
Do you remember the sound of brand-new sheets? ruffling in
answer to our passions. and the muffled TV, and the cooling
of the coffee on the table? it was a deafening orchestra

to match the cicadas of summer.
That night, we invented Eden. we named every living and non-living
creation, we made love in the presence of angels, in the wide-open
eyes of demons - in the darkest eye of myths.
Do you remember I whispered the secret names of God, that night?
Do you remember the ten thousand things we named?
that night, all the figures of speech covered their eyes and feigned deaf.
we became both the simile and metaphor of the night.