Wanting
Hot and cold beneath the duvet,
the wallpaper comes alive:
faces, skulls, and little beasts,
the Rorschach of the mind.
Once, twice, and I don’t flinch
at any ordinary wall.
Three times, four, I learn to yearn
for teeth inside them all.
Five, six, and I reach out
to give the lamp a flaw.
My fingers make a spider there,
to crawl through what I saw.
Now I sleep with both eyes closed;
no creature comes to feed.
I am not chased by shadows now—
I teach them how to need.
Then she climbs down from the wall,
with all her legs set free,
creeping close to tuck me in
and eat me where I sleep.