Window, Not Sky Poem by Ryan Van Winkle

We dreamed and a bird flew
into our bedroom window

like a heavy book
dropped in the dark.

Not a crack appeared
in your eyes but this lingers

inside me like that dream
when we were in bed and you spoke

with her mouth
at my shivering dick,

saying, "I love you, I know what you love."
Even dreaming I knew this was wrong

but my dick is a simple machine, a straw.
Her mouth was hot as blood

and as you slept she cut me open, smiled
and swallowed so hard I had to pull

your gold hair apart and kiss your cheeks
as if I'd never loved another, as if I knew

you would die.
So now I can't fall

back to sleep and wake you up
the slow way in which I'd fix you a bath.

We go outside. The grass is damp and gets caught
between our toes and we find this bird,

his neck broken by clear, sunlit sky -
more like a fish than a bird. His wings

folded behind his back in prayer.
His body below a window
hard as waking, sharp as grass.