by Christian Sammartino
Everyone is naked
In my dreams.
Not the variety of naked
You are while having sex
On a park bench.
The kind of nude you become when
Someone decodes the invisible braille of every injury
Your body has ever known.
A bloodhound that recovers a missing
Person is fluent in that language—
The peace of home is theirs tonight.
It’s the kind of information survivors
From the Titanic discovered when they
Were rescued from the Atlantic—
There will be no more sinking.
It’s more than what the Beatles meant
When they sang “I want to hold your hand.”
It’s the type of secret that was revealed to the Buddha
When he attained Nirvana under the Bodhi Tree—
There is a path that leads away from all this suffering.
Michelangelo deciphered that sensation
When his brush grazed the ceiling of the
Sistine Chapel for the first time—
Just because no one else has seen
The masterpiece on your flesh,
Doesn’t mean it’s less captivating.
I promise you will always be
This shade of naked in my dreams.