You are here and sweet
with soft kissed lips
betraying innocence
in childlike laughter
between sips of Omar Khayyam
and closed eyes
[I could not resist
the occasional glance
unaware that later,
I would see you, asleep
your arm tight around my waist]
I arch into this moment
of time-standing-still,
with rising suns
and curtains hiding the light of day
where everything seems a replica
of nothing I have ever known.
There is less to hide
under white sheets
as we speak in a tongue
hinting at less is more
and how differences never mattered
when familiarity breeds understanding
beyond the expected
skirting beneath our reality
that whispers:
space
and we pretend, in our what-ifs
that it is of little significance,
this lack of promise.
