There are times when I'm afraid
to ask you questions I know the answers to;
afraid of the night rearing
it's heavy ***** as though it
were something I needed
not something I begged
for when I was at my lowest

(and would soon regret after)

There are days when you're
sound asleep; like a balloon
living on borrowed
oxygen

Laying on your side
your eyes flicker
on and off;

taking in the AM
particles, eyelashes
that sweep dreams
back and forth

back and forth
until the dusk
smothers you in
promising scenes

There are times when I am
grateful I get to hear your
voice at the end of the razor-wire

and wonder, (because
wondering brings me
back to a childlike
presence)

if it's really you
that I love and appreciate,

or if it's just a dream
that continues to blanket
me in it's infinite ardor.