The Low Spark of Naming No One

The Low Spark of Naming No One

When you switch off the lamp
on your side of the bed
the slight touch of your hand
startles dust on the shade.
Dull furnace murmurs concur
with your placid breathing.
Only in hidden dreams
we're too tame to mention
does live current still flow,

high voltage shocks that elude us
in daylight, desire denatured,
given names gone, lust blurred
by the murky habitual syrup
of calling each other "honey."