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.