You are sleeping in my bed;
I am loathe to wake you,
torn between moments I need
and your need for rest.
It had been seven weeks since
the last time, and now,
will be months, your life
circumscribed by uncertainty
Searching words to fill this space,
not wanting to admit
not seeing you will be best,
anger at the circumstances
and people who leave us here
The way you touch my face
the way you ask for me
the way your body art
feels under my fingers
subtly different than bare skin
The taste of you, your sounds
the feeling of your hands in my hair
your desire pulling me in
I knew I needed this
now I am uncertain how
I can go without
Lying in bed yesterday, laughing
at some guys inept response
to you on a dating app
smiling at kitten pictures
laughing at our silly mispronunciations
outside, the sound of wind;
as you lie sleeping I let myself expand
aware of my yard, the plants
in containers on my patio
the scent of flowers not yet formed
However long it is until this is again
is too long, however long it is
until I know that I can bear uncertainty
is too long, however long it is
until you come into my arms again
is too long
the world is patient but I am not;
my roses will bloom whenever
the conditions are right, but I will not;
plants flowering, possible fruit and food
will come when the seasons allow,
but I will not, my desire for certainty
wars with knowing it is futile
I only hope, against fear,
against the sinking in my belly,
against whatever old pattern
sucks me down into despair,
that there will be this again:
you sitting at my table, you in my bed,
you on the phone and in my thoughts,
and when I am too old to hold you
I will still see, inches away,
your eyes, in a radiant smile.
Slut of the Cloth 
Leave a Reply