after Wisława Szymborska

I prefer you asleep
              when you’re awake, too full of motion.

I prefer you awake
              when you’re asleep, terrifyingly still.

I prefer you far away, my heart full of longing
              when we’re trapped together too many days.

I prefer you next to me, warm, our arms twined
              when I have only your letters to read.

I would prefer not to be
          such a creature
                    of clashing desires:
I would prefer my heart to be easier to read.