Right from Wrong

To reach across the sheets to touch you in your sleep They tell me
This is wrong, is wrong Or when you speak to me out of your dream
And I break into pieces like bread They tell me this is
Wrong Or when I lean forward to catch your heartbeat on my lips
This is wrong Or when you respond to my touch and wake
And your light goes up like a shout Wrong And when I read
The radiant poetry of your skin by our mutual light That's
Wrong But they tell me death is right, they invented death. And blood,
Yes, blood is right, and bones, bones feel good to them, and silence
The silence they impose at the center of our cells, yes, they
Love that And violence, yes, the clenched fist But mostly death
They watch me now as I escape across the border into the special
Country of your body, mind and spirit I know right from wrong.

-- John Gilgun