Love Poem #224

This must be what all these

poets keep writing about.

Sun rays replace moon beams,

hours slip into memories,

and the "do not disturb" sign sways

optimistic on the handle.

Dreams sit cross-legged

at the foot of our bed.

They don't think we can see them.

She told me I was beautiful

and I believed her.

Isn't that something to write about?