Sweet Dreams
I love watching them try to pound you
night after night
Their clumsy explosions
at three in the morning
again at four
Those horn-dogs didn’t get the memo: you’re taken
Half-showered
hair dripping
bathrobe clutched in one hand
the other scrolling on your phone in the miklat
you couldn’t care less
Come back to bed with me,
My Tel Aviv
I know you best of all
know how to please you
hold you
make you mine
In the soft parts of the city
in your coffee shops,
your dog parks
in an old friend’s smile
jogging to the public shelter
in a kindly Am Yisrael Chai
from a stranger
in the stairwell, waiting for the boom
In the flash of your eyes
from a bunker under a hotel
Leave the unwanted attention outside
groaning at your door
let them burn themselves out
Lay down beside me
on this unmade bed
in the smell of smoke
cold tea and yellow winter dust
Text your mother, you’re safe with me
curl up, little spoon
be my Tel Aviv
forever