Little Night Music

Late at night the sofa
spreads out her belly
and her arms wide open
even if there’s no one there
late at night when
time itself may be asleep,

snoring pattern of pelting seconds
pepper the silence and salt
the dreams of the restless
refrigerator: there’s a moan
but the sofa doesn’t waken
only her arms sag as the night
snuggles up to her,

the bastard son of time,
he unrolls his being
all over her helpless body
and her hopes that can flower
only thin cigarette smoke
and turn the living room
into an empty candy box.