Can I sing you to sleep?

I focus deeply to timbre, claw
my way back through the pages,
long after lexis had faded.
Because you are a watercourse along
the horizon and I shiver amid your docks,
name and breadth, a slow motion tide.
Because my collar bone slips to sand,
when the chest is flat of your humming.
And I do not think you unworthy.
And I cannot sleep, although my lids
are slipping.
I await another round for consideration,
because something happened: an instant
correlation, a red to green, or perhaps,
an unexpected stoplight in the mist,
where tête-à-tête amplifies, and trend
is a poem or voice that lingers on the frame.
I have imagined your mouth; a sole clench
of the thigh, the bitten lip, a blend of
photographs in the mind, side-by-side
on a mattress of reddening leaves, where
we lean into the lens to form one throat.