Sleep | poetry

You fall asleep,

My hand to your cheek

At first it seems sweet

Then I think of blander motives

Am I interrupting your rest?

Is this just a unwillingness to move?

Then you pull my hand to your chest

Bringing it to rest, part of me on you

Where I should always have been,

And I remember what love feels like again.

Too Busy For Love (poem)

Perhaps one day I will tire
of lonely nights between the sheets.
But for now, I am content
having spare room in my bed.
I don’t have to argue
about tonight’s dinner or
tomorrow’s plans. I can decide
what I want, when I want.
I am not jealous of the cuddling couples
in their warm coats on park benches.
My pumpkin latte keeps me just as warm
as I watch the world go by.
For now, I will observe the love in
the world, and remember how it feels
to have my heart broken. But right now
I am just too busy for love.