Dec 2020
Now I lay me down to sleep, mind naught but unwound thread,
the nearly risen sun prepared to rear its ugly head.
No mowing, honks, or rooster’s crow, but sounding in their stead:
my racing thoughts, your steady breath, all time suspended here in bed.
the nearly risen sun prepared to rear its ugly head.
No mowing, honks, or rooster’s crow, but sounding in their stead:
my racing thoughts, your steady breath, all time suspended here in bed.
I hate getting home so late that I don’t get to see him but he always manages to roll over and wrap an arm around me so I feel comforted while I stare at the ceiling for hours, trying to wind down....
