Still Asleep

peaceful, just like real soft light
right before the full sunrise.
like a slow touching warmth
on my bared shoulder
underneath the sun --
the heat of the morning
warming the roundness of
the curve of my arm.

you were there,
breathing slowly,
asleep. your

butterfly eyelashes
fluttered at the
window of your dreams --
your thoughts humming
in some unknown sequence. i saw

you reach out to the warmth
with both arms
in a stretch towards
the new light, your
eyes still closed. but you
and rolled over
underneath a
mountainous snow-capped sheet,

the sun at your back.
seems as if it should have
convinced you
(like a heated argument)
to rise and get busy.

the sun touched you
only once
before you tried
to awaken.

but you
closed your eyes

as if light
had not bidden you,

had not begged
or beckoned
your gentle attention --
even hours ago
when you asked
the beginnings of the
daylight to let you go,
to let you go,
not to tempt your
dreams --

fluttering until
it had hopefully captured
the cocoon of
your sleep, wrapped
tightly around you --
and raised you up
for the tide of the day . . .

like the thousands
of things you
might have wanted to do.

you would not
wake up, no.

no, not
for a song from me,
nor for the stark
light of the afternoon.

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