OR
Falling Asleep In Work-Clothes
...
[It was 5 AM and
The crickets were still spooning on my window sill.]
Your cell phone alarm was a song we sung whenever we could.
But not this time.
I had slept for hours with my ring finger in the loop of your pants before, but
In my twilit grog, I recall thinking that this time was the best.
You had to leave in seven minutes or
Miss your train, But,
This crusty-eyed morning,
At ungodly 5 o'clock -
Before Work sharpened its pang - you
Languidly preached
That Under the comforter is nothing short of Heaven and that
Outside,
Is the vast kingdom of Hell; and so
You stayed softly Under with me
Until your living breath rattled at the neck
And jangled me warmly back
To sleep.
–
The crickets spooned still
Precisely as they do, on the sill, and
When you returned greasy-beat and ready for rest again
From work,
You relayed this morning's events:
O, how I drooled! you said,
How our song thwacked and insisted and insisted itself into your ears.
How sleep honed itself into breakfast,
How you salvaged a work-shirt from the floor-pile, and how
You replaced my finger in your belt loop
With a rag
Used for wiping tables.
-JV
