parenthetical (parenthetical) wrote in pillow_book, @ 2007-08-30 00:21:00 |
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Entry tags: | not a goddamn poem, pillow book |
Here
(Sam found this tucked under his pillow the evening of the day after it all went down.)
We stopped near daybreak, overlooking the valley.
You jumped up on the hood, settled down beside me,
Your shoulder solid against mine, warm in the dawn chill.
The sun rose in front of us, almost unexpected.
But appropriate somehow - one shadow less.
We let the silence speak for us, watched the world change.
Mid-morning you moved. Thought you'd want to go,
My desperation gone, transferred to you.
It beats in the blood, and I haven't forgotten.
But you just slid lower, stretched out your legs,
And dozed off in the sunshine, hood warm beneath us.
Breathing easy, sleeping easy - can't take it for granted.
I watched you sleep, while the sun climbed higher,
Faint humming behind us, cars on the distant road.
Thought about all we'd lost - and all we hadn't.
You stirred when I shifted, didn't wake all the way,
Just tugged me closer, breath warm on my skin,
Arm slung over my waist. We slept a spell.