For you, I will embark
on a journey of sleeplessness.
I don’t sleep well in your arms.
This is not a betrayal, I swear —
I’d rather be awake in your embrace,
staring into the dark
planning projects with the moon
and listening to you snore
than sleep soundly with anyone else.
I will come to this bed
ready to turn and toss
to tangle and untangle myself in
the blankets. To fluff and to flatten
these three pillows again
and again, just
to listen to you breathe beside me.
Your snores are tiny airplanes
writing poetry in the sky of my night.
I will be by turns hot with cold feet
and cold with cold feet too.
I will abandon all hope of equilibrium
Occasionally, I might become rigid,
I might resent
the slippery snooze, the tight clench
of consciousness — I might sigh,
and grumble, and you might stir.
And then I will remember
to kiss your cheeks as you drowse
vulnerable-soft beside me.
I will allow you to gather me,
reaching out in slumber to pull my body
close. I will lay in uncomfortable positions,
stay quiet in your arms
so you will remain asleep
(having gathered a bouquet of flowers
or a basket of laundry in your dreams).
The day comes; my eyes are rough.
But I will return every night
to this bed with you. I will drink
endless coffee, will make the effort
so that I can be here
to stare at the ceiling
to ruminate, and write stories,
and make trivial lists as I wait.
Your even breaths
are better than any dream.
Art by: Carolina Buzio