You were asleep hours ago
I've watched you from my desk across the room,
lamplit
in case I decide to use it.
I hold a pencil to my throat
I hate it when you go to sleep.
You do it so early
so when the sky gets heavy and the roof caves in
I hold it up with both my hands
over the bed where you lie still as the sea.
Saturday, September 18, 2010
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