I Know Why My love Sleeps

i know why my love sleeps:
it is because it dreams
in hours at its most weary.
i know that long after
the toil of the day,
my love will say
sorry— i tend to forget
that my love is as set as stories
unread — to end.

i know why my love sleeps:
it is because it sees
my lover’s heart as softest pillow,
skin forgiveness-drowned
in streams of ruinous hair.
she’s comfort bare, as comfort is
an ocean of whispers,
with unceasing breeze, brewing
little whirlpools of delight amidst
my calm and dull sea.

i know why my love sleeps:
it is because between
my weaknesses it tires,
and the rain is so inviting.
my love sleeps through its yearning,
my love sleeps through its pain,
that someday soon it must wake up
and never feel such things again.
that it may take my lover’s days
upon its waking ways to hold,
but as for now, my love must fold.
i know why my love sleeps:
the night is young and cold.

— A. P.

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