Wednesday, August 29, 2012


It's really the only time I sleep well...
But then again, there's an excitement pitter-pattering
Like an undertow pulling my dreams along,
a bit closer to the surface of consciousness
Because I don't want to forget the feeling of nearness
And I'll wake a little annoyed with the alarm clock
A little annoyed with the daylight
Because I wish it was the middle of the night, and it would just hold a bit longer
I don't want this moment to slip past
Nothing is promised, and I sure cannot predict the future
But I hope, oh how I hope
Like a tiny little bird bravely singing in the witching hours.
He's bathed in morning light
And it's my favorite part of waking up early
Handsome in one of those classic ways that isn't really based on opinion
Pupils dilate, and there's the swell of the strings in the orchestra
Gentle crescendo
I have to hold my breath
It's all that I can do not to let the words escape
So I slip out quietly before I'm pulled in to his undeniable gravitational pull
Slip away into the tasks of the day
So hard to close the door
And hold it down
And hold it in
But it's undeniable
Coursing at such great speed just beneath the placid surface
but in the still of the night it sings
like a tiny bird in the witching hours...
echoing through the heart valves
each pulse...
sometimes tender
sometimes strong
sometimes raging
sometimes a desperate cry
and sometimes only a whisper
always singing
always true
"Oh how, I love this man."

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