Time, Difference

I’m hurtling, I’m hurtling underground
and thinking of your still sweet head
all messed up
on the pillowcase
avoiding morning
and I’m so far away from it
and you
might be with her.

I hope,
years later,
we’ll remember this time
always one of us watching through the night
while the other slept.


February 6, 2011. boys, poetry, writing. 4 comments.