You sat there, silhouetted against
the white noise of the computer
screen, your face twisted in such a way
that you were slipping between the cracks
of content and sleepy,
your eyes falling to the tangled up
sheets beside you.
I laid there, wrapped up tightly
in your think comforter,
my eyelids drooping,
fighting to keep them wide,
my gaze transfixed on
the ceiling.
(Please forgive me.
I wanted to take you in).
We ebbed and flowed
through the space between
and
beneath your blankets.
(I am in awe
of the poetry
that sang out when you grazed
my lips with yours)

I think I shall not
have another
lover
like
you.