it's sunday morning and my bed is cold.
i can't get up.
i remember his warmth beside me, and
i can see his head right there on the pillow,
mouth open, soft lips twitch with dream words,
hair fighting to stand on its own,
eyes moving under sleep-leaden lids,
arms still around me.
i watched him dream and wondered if it's me.
i touched where his nose made a bridge to
meet his lip and an eyebrow shot up
smile and touched him again- the
other eyebrow matched number one
eyes flew open and his smile erupted,
a cloud of sheets and happiness enveloped us
and we tumbled into eachother,
eyes closed and gulping the other's breath.
it's sunday morning and my bed is cold.
i can't get up.
i remember the hole inside me and
i can see his letters hanging over there, all lies
seeming sincerity, snakes in the
guise of tenderness, bring me to my knees
i cried and fought despair, my weak
walls giving in to the black creeping.
if it's true that heaven keeps track of our tears,
He must be able to count really fast.
it's sunday morning and my bed is cold.
i can't get up because there's no one to keep me down.
