by John Grey
I cannot see you sleeping
but I hear you breathing.
The sound of you inhaling,
exhaling, is my companion.
I whisper to the oxygen
fueling your lungs.
i reach over and kiss
the gentle issue like
the slow bleed of air
from a balloon.
I lie down with the
unconscious things you do.
I walk with them
in the night forest,
show the buds on the
spring branches,
taut with waiting
for the dawn.
I promise the heave
of your breast
the first flower.
Your night noises
are beneath the open sky now.
stirring the starlight.
They break off a piece
of dazzling fire,
divide it into breaths.
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