Tuesday, March 29, 2011

At home, alone

Tonight it’s your shoulder,
your back, having escaped
from the blanket’s protection,
offering a hint
of your perfume, unidentifiable
and undeniably you,
begging to be kissed, daring me
not to wake you,
that’s keeping me awake.
Who knew irony could be
so beautiful

I guess it’s just
another part of you to ponder
while I’m sitting
up in bed, alone, this time
finding that my thoughts have mimicked
my actions, not wanting to move
away from you, fighting the morning,
so tonight they will stay,
on your shoulder blade,