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, yes Death feels good To them And they know death, 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