Half asleep, your lips dance from the palm of my hand to the tips of my fingers, then tucked under your cheek. You breathe deeply, soaking contentment into the pillow with three words on the outbreath and air I can feel.
I will stay here, sixty minutes spent in stillness but tuned in to every twitch.
I could stay here, write an essay from the ink on your skin.
Can I stay here, somewhere I can keep this?
Quiet, dear mind,
when thinking breaks you apart
cascade your confessions onto this page
till you come away empty.
Feel, dear heart,
numbing the strain does not soften the break
fear not the flood of sensations
for with your rhythmic beat they will dissipate.
Presence, dear body,
one day you will feel at one with yourself
and your reach will be infinite;
here you can tend to your trauma.
Freedom, dear soul,
rest with expectation for the next adventure
and leave behind everything
that resists your balletic wandering.