by Lacey Smith
We are sleeping in the cling of the most humid summer,
for years of recording, we've little to show but sweat.
Our ankles touch and arms wrap once around another,
we play house as two people with pasts to forget.
I arch my back and listen to the wheeze of your snore,
perched quiet and waiting for a dreamed out word
to break the silent spread of mere days with you.
In the morning, we let the alarm go off five times
and I press my palms into your naked chest just once.
We are draped in the colors of months and months,
while the temperature dips and at noon again climbs.
I wait in bed for you to come home, still undressed,
to kiss the taste of parting from your wet breath.
Author's Note: This was a thirteen line sonnet assignment for an advanced creative writing course while I was in Germany. It's been through the revision pipeline a few times and I think I like how it finally ended up.
Posted on 07/17/2009
Copyright © 2020 Lacey Smith