Sleep: the dance.

Breathe in, breathe out.

A rhythm to sleep's sweet song,

a dance that has no moves.

 

His body, my warmth.

His embrace for which I long,

frustrations of the day, all at once, I lose.

 

His touch, his sound.

O, but I must see his face;

a problem remedied by my dreams.

 

Sleep sings it's lullaby.

Our rhythms begin to match pace,

and we dance for eternity it seems.

 

He leads, I follow,

with his favorite dance,

as sleep continues to jive.

 

My turn, I lead.

Now I pick a dance,

instruments played by our emotions inside.

 

Our emotions match together,

a harmony to beat them all.

A song that sleep cannot create alone.

 

The playlist is almost over,

a final dance we must call,

and the rest, for now, we postpone.

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