Saturday, February 5, 2011


The space between
the mattress and my neck
houses your arm, splayed out
as if in a thrust for territory.
If the roles were reversed,
a thousand needles would be jabbing
me awake, with the pressure from your frame.
But instead, my sleep is stolen
by the jut of your bicep
concluding there is no rest
for the meek.

No comments:

Post a Comment