her hair was the dark sky
splashing over the edges of her pillow;
waves of black velvet ink,
spilled by reckless writers
while writing their love story
all over the cotton sheets of paper

her laugh was the moon;
shining a path through the hours of their shared whispers
and comforting him, the weary night traveler
who no longer felt lost

her eyes were the stars;
so bright and breathtaking,
behind them hid so much mystery,
he wondered how she could see

he soaked in every moment
and wished for an endless night

The trees don't transform
like they used to.
Hills don't morph into
dragons.
These empty boxes
no longer soar through
the clouds

The trees are just trees
the hills, hills
the box, a box
if this is growing up
let me
          stay a kid
                          forever

my bed became a sanctuary of nothingness.   But I fear emptiness.  Its close.  A paralysis of indecision permeates like frigid winter through drafty walls.  I decide to sleep in.  

Occasionally turning to see the clock- minutes, hours pile up like ***** dishes.

During broad daylight, the distant noise of a cessna impedes into my room, defining a vast separation.  One, maybe two people up there have an interesting life, an important destination.  Listening to their flight gives me something to do.  When they are gone, I have nothing left but a fingerprint stained glass of water.

By late afternoon, the lost day vaguely disturbs like seeing one shoe on a highway.  
Either painful or a waste, nothing good about it.  

Finally light dims.  A broken clock is right twice in a day, but since I'm the one who stopped, the clock catches up with my uselessness in bed.
The period on the sentence that I have, truly, accomplished nothing.  

Darkness justifies my nap.  A relief as I can finally end the day with some sleep.

I dream of being infinite, traversing the universe a narrow beam of light.  You pass me by a little faster, but turn around so we can create time together, to become here.

I dream of when we camped by a river's waterfall.  Half awake my eyes can see the tent filled with soft green light.  No light source but bright enough to see by, everything in the tent and you sleeping peacefully. Logic corrects me, says it a New Moon and I shouldn't be able to see anything.  My eyes agree and slowly darken, blind to the color of love's aura that I can still feel.

I wake.  Pour one bowl of cereal instead of two, remembering when you looked up from breakfast and said, "let’s ride our bikes across the country," just like that.  And just like that we did, halfway anyway.  1500 miles was just the beginning.  I love the places you take me.

I call you up.  "Let's not call them dealbreakers, ok?"

Wine comes in at the mouth
And love comes in at the eye;
That's all we shall know for truth
Before we grow old and die.
I lift the glass to my mouth,
I look at you, and I sigh.