Watching you sleep is like watching the moon

you are so far away and so close at the same time

and when I press my lips to your cheek I see light

not the kind that radiates, because sleep is a quiet force

but the kind of light that glows softly from the tenderness of your skin,

the whisper of your breathing,

the gentle twitch of your hand. 

 

I wonder what you dream about

when I’m not laying next to you

I wonder what escapes from your past

and echoes in your mind

and causes storms on the ocean of your consciousness 

I wonder if there are moments you wish you could bring a flashlight into the corners of your mind

and clear out everything that’s been burrowing for years,

packed in sealed boxes with tiny holes cut into the cardboard

leaking the memories you forgot could still make you feel.

 

You peek your eyes open and I smile

and you make a small sound that I can only hear 

if I press my nose to yours,

and I try to remember what it’s like to sleep alone

fearful of dark shadows that make their home inside my heart

and begin to sing, most nights

songs of broken promises and the numbness of days

that I lived without hope of tomorrow

before I knew that a world in which I had you could exist

before I matched my sleepy smile to yours

before I had you as a nightlight. 

 

Your breathing quiets and the moon starts to make way for the sun

and I’m hoping the storms have calmed inside you

but if they haven’t just know that I’ll hold your hand anyway

and even if that storm carries into daydreams 

that come home and sleep with you at night

baby, know that I’ll slip in beside your aching body

and we’ll count stars with kisses, 

and breathe the past into the sea.