a day in bed
i found the warmth of day resting in my
bed
after three hours of salsa-dancing and
six tumbling into dreams
so pale he looked like he was dead
but definitely warm; this gift from the
sun.
if one should find a day resting in your
bed,
there are things that one shouldn't do.
do not shake him awake and demand a
kiss.
do not kick him off to make the morning
coffee.
and, please do not squeeze him and
scream,
"let’s see what this day can do!”
a day in bed should be quietly observed,
i lean in, close and attentive.
he smiles in his sleep.
his eyebrows are neat.
i can hear the ocean when I stick my ear
near.
that is, the ebb and flow of his gentle
breath.
did he just peek at me?
he better be dreaming of me.
but, this kind of day doesn’t observe me
and, well, I guess, that’s good – once
in a while
a day in bed should be allowed to dream
and roll in every curve of the pillows
and blankets
spreading himself over the ticking
minutes and quieting the pounding hours
until enclosed in my arms,
waking only after
i have adorned the body
with little lipstick kisses
and covered the length of day with the
darkness of my hair.
©
lyw
