Saturday, January 23, 2010

White Couch Serenata

Poetry and myself aren't very good friends. We sort of just randomly happen to be in the same room, then there is an awkward glance or two. At some point we share a beer and talk about superficial things that have happened since the last time we saw eachother. I ran into poetry the other morning in the kitchen. Strange

I know the sun has set
and is closer to rise
despite all my best efforts
I still feel my hand on your thigh.

I can hear the sound of your dreams
as they dance towards me down the street
alone on this couch by the window
I look out towards where you sleep.

So right now I wish you good night
right now I wish you good sleep
right now I wish you all the joy in life
you get when we fall asleep.


ImPerceptible said...

Awwhh. You sweet poet, you. Sweet dreams.