when fringe of lips
and tips of hair
run a sweet fever
at one o’clock in the morning
 
when a shameless nipple
stares like a hot-hard eye
at one o’clock in the morning
 
when the little finger
and the little toe
burn holes on wind and earth
 
it is the hour of the gipsy heart
vagrant of my lover’s body
cul-de-sac of belly
 
avenue of thigh
still dark and silent
at one o’clock in the morning
 
when the whole world sleeps
save me who waits
for the double somersault
of the heart