Sleep is in the corner
smiling at your snoring,
watching the rise, the twitch,
contented moan and fall,
fascinated by the roll of this
bedded linger; sweet listless breaker,
hold me here, stay your void
a while still. We can be soon enough.

We can take our time, from sleep,
from tomorrow, with interest,
beseeching no quarter for thought,
no rest on our tongues,
no end too bleak to broach
for any messy sorrys, known to us
like a catch--

not the aha kind, nothing owed like that,
but with a generous momentum,
an easement to our heaviness
thrown with approach,
pried out like mothballed scenes
not unwritten, but read enough,
where some old shape of us shed.

Outside waits at the door this morning.
Each uncurtained window
is certain not to be lit too soon.
These bare walls can be set
with art from the air
today, tomorrow.
I can follow you there,
I can walk myself home.

I'll smile at my sleep then
in his twilight yawn,
staggering from his contented corner
to ask me how it went,
and I'll say I'll show you,
come lay with me now.
Feel how deeply I can hold you
when we give ourselves enough time.

04/14/2019

Posted on 04/14/2019
Copyright © 2024 Matthew Zangen