1:30 a.m. and my lover is sleeping soundly
while I, twisting, needy, eyes tilting wildly open,
lie adjacent, tracing shapes in the darkness,
flexing my feet, and wondering if, on this coast,
the light will come any sooner.
And though I know tomorrow I will wilt too early,
begging for a nap at noon, perhaps, or a shorter walk,
or a second cup of coffee, and though I am ever-so-slightly
jealous of my lover, who can sleep past jetlag,
past the strange quiet of New England in late fall,
and who has managed to be lulled by the covers
of this unfamiliar bed, these foreign pillows.
Despite the disadvantage of lying awake
at this late and faulty hour,
I don't mind this sleeplessness.
Instead, I listen to the sound of breathing beside me,
the warm elixir I have come to love, a sound I measure
in slow and tender draughts. The air fibrillates with tiny,
somnolent hums, the darkness pausing around this rising body,
these easy, slumbering limbs, and all I can think about is
how beautiful this oxygen is, the caress it makes against my cheek,
against my fluttering eyelids, the curve of my left shoulder.
The night edges on, millimeter by millimeter, and yet
I would not mind if it lasted forever, this silence,
this generous reprieve,
this one beating promise after another.
3 comments:
I was just talking to a friend last night about how we can take for granted how the breathing of a lover next to us becomes a steady part of living, when they leave for a business trip.
I love the appreciation in this poem. The beauty and comfort. Sorry you were sleepless though. Glad you found time to appreciate the love while sleepless.
Lovely.
Aaaahhh. Beautiful. Gentle. Loving. Quiet. Thank you, Maya. If you are going to be awake at night, you may as well love the sounds and the silence, the inhaling and exhaling of the one you love at your side. Out of curiosity, where are you/were you in New England? It must be beautiful at this time of year - with all the color changes.
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