February 18th, 2007

I write by crack of light.
To respect my sleep mate, but
Mostly to negate the film's
After-effects.

Every night sound is
Cautiously examined , then shunned
under the striped comforter.

The sound is only his steady stream of
Reality air.
I listen to him breathe in and
Wait until he blows it out.

I always thought that people that did that were
Obtuse, to put it nicely.
But there is something obtuse about it.

He is safe; he is vulnerable.
He is dead; he is alive.

He is where I want to be.

My fear from film fades to a
Burnt-orange dream.
Nothing to fear but nights of tomorrows.

I will be alone.