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.