You’re asleep behind me,
I don’t know how deep,
or how long,
or how much I’ve kept you awake,
but in this moment I’m thankful
that my keys don’t clack
the way old keyboards do.
Outside a great Mississippi fog
has descended on us
too thick to see past even your nose,
though some of us have longer than most.
And in this honest,
too-early-hour
you are the most beautiful thing–
the most beautiful person
my eyes have ever seen.
If I err honest,
I want nothing more than to rejoin you,
gain whatever scraps of sleep
that I can scrounge,
but I think I’ve kept you
from yours too long.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
It shouldn’t have to be like this.
I am broken and beaten and scarred,
I see them glisten wicked grins across my hands
when the moonlight plays the blinds
dark mars–
And when my dead children took my hand
you took the other
and read to me
and held me
and were
the most beautiful person
to ever hold my hand.
I know that I don’t deserve you,
and I know that you don’t factor my opinion
into that particular judgement.
I know these words aren’t my best,
but should you ever see the light,
and go your own perfect way,
know that I will never regret these moments
sad as they are
and that already has grown a rushed and slopped love for you.
Though it’s still far too soon,
far too soon,
to whisper it to you in the dark.
