On your bedside table, as
you slumber beside me,
are two empty glasses, backlit
by your beat-up digital clock.
It reads four-thirty AM
in glowing red characters. They
reflect off the mirror on the other end of the room,
and cast a crimson light
over your broad chest, strikingly bright
over your heart , and on my
hand which lays just below it.
Daylight will soon obscure it all.
We will no longer be so clearly targeted by time.
So I follow your example,
finally close my eyes,
and drift into sleep.















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