Mindful that i do not wake you,
i have lit this corner,
and from its glow
where gold meets shadow,
i memorize the slight smile
of sleep on your lips,
the way dark hair curls against the pillow
as you dream your dreams,
unaware that i have slipped away
to guarded spaces where you touch,
but cannot reach me.
If I could call back minutes
when you curved against my back,
the rise and fall of your warm breath
in rhyme with mine,
i would allow desire to melt the space
my wary heart can't close
to let you closer.
In hesitant longing,
my lamp-lit quiet reaches out
but does not touch you.
It's best you sleep
and dream the dreams I can't
make real through invisible partitions
evidenced only by the misted trace
of my solitary breathing.
© Mara Broadaway
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