my conscious hand extends out into the air
suspended over his back
the night has fallen, the birds won't be calling
until the morning comes to attack

he might be asleep, but his aura is mindful
the bed feels half its size
the blanket that surrounds his body
barely graces my thigh

I'm trying not to breathe, I'm trying not to be
because i'm sleeping next to a fuse
nothing feels natural about this
like swimming in a pool with both of your shoes

my knee bumps a place on his thigh
and now i hold my breath all-together
as uncomfortable as i would be in the texas heat
wrapped in a woolen sweater

what a tragic accident
i reminded him i was there
when he was in route to a place
of being blissfully unaware

we're too close for being so far apart
though it's beating next to me, where is his heart?
our love found its passport and traveled on
these inches should be miles,
how much longer til we're gone