Sleep, which I rejoice in,
Is, I realize, not my friend.
Having slept when you walked by—
I’m now awake. And cry.
I miss you—so much.
What is sleep’s, compared to your touch?
What is sleep’s gigantic mouth
Compared to yours, the warm, wet south—
Which tickles me in your green, informing weather—
Life—our consciousness of our being together?
Asleep to love,
I miss being awake to love,
The state when I see you, and you see me,
The absence of which, is why I write my poetry.
I sleep angelically, to avoid sin,
But am assailed by dreams, which put me in
Hopeless, foggy, situations, where I miss,
Because of excuses and sleep, your trembling kiss.
I would sleep, to forget how much I cry
Thinking how I slept when you, half asleep yourself, walked by
On the way to—who ever knows?
Time loves us. But goes.