the singers

do you hear them, my love -
the singers of jasmine dreaming in the dark,
        boughs of scented fantasies in their arms ?

their fingertips scratch the pane -
        souls of dead children with offerings of bones.
they coil about your nakedness with the garments of their death.
will you not welcome them ?

let them fill your mouth with their exhalations,
        with each embrace seducing breath and life and hope.
they leave you with the dawning:
spent -
your sweat upon the stones.