Forgetful

When my person comes home late,

and I have the choice:

to curl into sleep I know is good

or into their arms and conspiratorial

whispers, I almost always forget

the tired days, my solemn vow

to crawl into dreams as soon as I can.

In the face of the vows we keep

together. I am forgetting

how it felt to be lonesome

first and foremost. I am able

to get by with fewer dreams

now that I am not all longing.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s