There is something solid and safe in his frame, And in the early morning when I wake and he does not, The nook in his outstretched arm calls my name. Roll, slide over into sanctum, just some ligament and muscle he’s got. Warm, steady heartbeat, even his breath, a languid afterthought. For all that I… Continue reading On sleep or not sleeping
you will love them until you waste themwary and satisfiedthey will wear youthreadbare and misshapen and it will be home
even a drop in a bucket still makes ripples.