I do not wonder where you sleep. Maybe I pretend in the dark, that your head and my head are not far apart--- But maybe thats just a pretend game. Perhaps, I think, you sleep With that woman we saw down the street, carrying her toddler like a football. Maybe you sleep next to her head. But I do not wonder this. I sleep with my head turned to the window, not wondering, eyes wide. Maybe it is that jogger, whose breasts bounce back and forth; If she let them, they could bounce her eyes out, your eyes out, my eyes out. Does your head sleep next to her blinding breasts? It is better if I do not wonder, if I stay sleeping. I cannot wonder if I sleep. My eyes catch the time of when I sleep: its 1:08 AM. Three hours and now nine minutes past when you said youd be home. I do not wonder where your head rests, or where my head begins and starts. I sleep where I always sleep in the same bed we both sleep in when we are both sleeping. I wonder, and I do not wonder, whether or not or whether it is better this way. If I sleep, and do not wonder, and do not think in the dark, I can pretend in the way That children pretend on street corners that theyll get out of the dark and grow up and be Amazing somehow. They dont know how and they dont care how, but one day, theyll wake And be amazing. One day, just watch. Well be amazing one day, just watch. A stirring, why move? Your velvet skin against my slumbering skin feels good. Your head is close to mine, you are here. You sleep where he sleeps, and it feels nice. If he were here, he would not want to share his sleeping spot with you who sleeps and does not sleep. I do not wonder where he sleeps. Maybe I pretend that your head is his head and my head is my head--- And we are not very far apart. Maybe. |
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