he is lying, sound asleep
his breath expelled with the careful calculation
of a heart wide awake
wide open-
wondering, what would it be like
to take that heart between my fingers
hold it close
pry the sides apart and kiss
all there was to see?
running through the vessels are images
the sweetest, the most honest
he has never been so bare
dancing amongst his bloodstream
is me, are his dreams
his secrets-
shut the heart like a diary, put it back in place
pressing it lovingly
lying once more, by his side, studying his curtained eyes
that unconscious smile at my heaviness
the mattress is a little lumpy, God knows
but there are blankets aplenty
it was me who guided him here
weary, tired but still gleeful
into my arms
my breasts act as pillows, and as his head rises with my chest
overwhelmed becomes me, tears prick my eyes
fall into mine and his sunshine and bonfire hair
tickles his freckles
pours into his skin
fuels his pulse
sets aflame his muscle
a messenger to his spirit
and he wakes
he asks me what is wrong, drowsily, hand where
perhaps he had felt his heart removed and replaced,
chin at my collarbones.
my eyes ripple and convulsing, choking on affection,
my arms fly about him, my whispers entreat his ears,
my gifts for him
the effects he has on me are tidal waves impossible to plot
though known is it to me that he has a calendar of them
within his chest
so, "nothing" comes my answer, care consuming volume
"okay" says he back, then settles down to once more
fall asleep upon my breasts