i get night terrors, too,
and your breathing down my neck.
over the silhouettes, night-light and all;
you are a brazen book.
i most often
experience the evening deprived of feelings
longed for by most people like us,
and sometimes the inconvenience shows
in the morning: in the rustle of hair,
in the chaotic tangle of thoughts and
footsteps accentuated by full-stops.

how dramatic the way i caress your spine,
how soft and sweet the sound of turning pages;
the friction between paper rubbing on paper
tickles my ear.

sometimes i get nightmares, too,
but when i read you i know that i am safe,
because i know that someone understands.

— A. P.


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