you are asleep, my love
and i am on the eye-fluttering side of awake.
it is raining here
tap, tap, tapping on my eyelids
like the whispers i sometimes listen to at night.
i’d like to listen to your whispers
on this side of midnight
the tap, tap, tapping of your raindrop fingertips
on the slope of my sleeping—or almost sleeping—spine.
i want to blearily blink my gaze out
the morning window at the summer rain
sliding slick and hot and sizzling down the glass.
i want to roll over on the other side of midnight
and coo each other back to sleep.
“not yet, not yet. dream a little longer, my love.”
the hot sun comes soon enough— not soon enough—
but i am asleep in your head while the frost thaws
on opposite sides of midnight
hoping, praying, spellcasting
that this will be enough.