with hairs so lovingly everywhere spread,
you drift, beside me, into unconsciousness,
our breaths a perfect syntax.
would you leave me, then, for the
nothingness of slumber—where ungoverned
minds might tear our knotted souls
to two? as i shut mine, i will
your half-ing lids to part
return, full-praised, to the joyfulness of waking
but when i hear the sweet-kissed lips exhale
a sigh of deeply-gone, when the
full well wisdom of a good eight
hours makes itself (gentle) so
strangely, i do not feel yet abandoned.
though not as one we are not still
so very far apart.