The young man sat in the bed in the corner on the floor, one hand holding a book bought from the racks at the grocery store, the other resting on the head of the young woman sleeping next to him. As his eyes scanned the pages, his hand stroked her hair, and occasionally she would awake from her slumber, smile, and mumble a few incomprehensible words of midnight wisdom. As he read the book, he barely noticed, too entranced in the plot lines unfolding before him in a world he paid a whole $2.99 to enter.
As the dead of night became darker outside, and the cold chill of 3 a.m. danced in through the open window, the young man put down his book, instead turning his gaze to the young woman next to him. His eyes followed the curves of her body, starting at her violin lips, slowly moving down and admiring the sensual outcropping of her naked hips beneath his blanket. As she lay deep in sleep, he put his hand onto her face, feeling the warmth of her skin and the arch of a subconscious smile. He moved his hand back up to her hair, stroking the straightened dyed black strands and feeling their softness between his fingers. As he looked at her, he wondered what she could be dreaming about, and wished so badly he was with her in that landscape.
“You are mine, and I am yours,” he told to her earlier that night in a lover’s embrace. She just stared at him with welcoming green eyes that smiled. At this moment, he missed those green eyes, and leaned in to kiss her gently on the cheek.
“You are mine, and I am yours,” he repeated, though this time barely a whisper. Still, her small lips formed a porcelain smile and his heart raced at the idea that she was now dreaming of him, and only him.
Maybe not quite a poem, but I wanted to share nonetheless.