Moonlight - 10/14/10

Sleepy eyelids cannot see
the way that wide ones can,
and with my eyelids drooping
dropping, dragging
still trying to stay awake
the things I see are shadows,
but not for lack of light:
your chin haloed like an eclipse
by headlights that flicker by,
street lamps that stand impassive as we move.
The hint of your lips,
not full, just the bottom one
smooth, soft, velvety to sleepy sight
and my resire to reach out
and stroke those lovely lips
curved gently upward,
not a grin, just a peaceful,
simple smile
that I hope has something to do
with my weary head
on your shoulder.
I notice, through sleep,
that every time the car turns sharply
and forced beyond our control
sway my listless form from you,
your grip on my hand tightens.

Pull me back, I'm much happier with you.

The vibrations of the car
pulse frequencies of everything rattling
our hands included,
wavelengths matching up,
crest to crest, trough to trough,
until I feel something like numbness
but in it the wholeness so longed for:
I cannot feel where my fingers end
and your knuckles begin,
the separation between our palms.
I almost hate every affectionate squeez
making me tell the difference
between you and me.