Broken Teacups

xix. the way you sleep at night (part i)

i could write whole poems about the way you sleep at night

part i. when you get into bed

your feet tap out a lullaby as they pad over to your bed

and you climb in and sit cross-legged, massaging the back of your head.

a glass of water sparkles beside you, on the table to your right

as you lean over and flick a switch, immediately extinguishing the light.

the darkness isn't scary, though; its warmth comforts you,

its silent black blanket envelops the world as it waits for tomorrow's new.

the sheets rustle when you lie down, there are no creases lining your eyes

as you put your head down and your feather-filled pillow lets out the softest of sighs.

the starry constellations on your freckled cheeks smile wide

as you toss and turn trying to find the more comfortable side.

your hair is spread out unevenly, like a crooked fan beneath your head

as your press your cheek against the dried lipstick staining your pillow red.

your breathing gradually gets softer as the the minutes pass by

and your hand tugs the blanket to cover the place where you lie.

in the moments before they close, your eyes are tiny crystals hanging from a chandelier

and i could dance beneath them all night,

but instead, i let you sleep,

right here.