His eyelids flutter,
moth-like in the soft light-
chin tilted toward the stars,
throat on full display-
hazel curls swirl
across my pillowcase.
Dream-drunk breath puffs
past his parted lips,
and I freeze-
inflicted with affection-
reluctant to break
his snow globe of sleep.
Today’s forecast is scorching-
high humidity with
a low chance of humanity.
And our doorstep is
the thin threshold between
safety and smothering
concrete.
See- out there,
it’s all too much,
and in here,
he’s too at ease.
The second
I pivot to leave,
he mumbles,
“Good morning.“
And away my heart goes,
thumping
quick
as a sparrow’s wings.
pm poetry 