Peter Chapman Poetry

Sleeping With You

You sleep without a sound. My legs twitch.
Your hair is dark with luxury.

You sleep something stolen.

I sleep two guys, one given, one taken
so I'm quiet, no announcements.

You have gone to bed with me past
the verge of kissing

into this night on the cold river, the sorrowed hills
with bats zapping bugs above the pond,
the tawny soundless deer all somehow knowing

we're careful not to bet our luck.

for Suzanne