There is glitter on your sleeping cheek,
just beneath your eyelid.
I try to scrape it off.
I fail,
don't wake up.
It's been a while since you've slept like this.
You haven't stirred once,
not once, the whole night
perhaps it is the warmth I have to offer
or the polka-dotted pillow
beneath your cheek.
Your best friend's head is
by your elbow
peeking up from beneath the duvet
He, the dinosaur
green and cotton-teethed,
is your constant companion
and you have named him Jenson.
I don't know why.
When you called me in last night
with that sweet voice,
those big eyes,
that nearly-too-long, gently curling hair,
I could never have said no.
Not to you.
Never to you.
I should have slept as well, I know
but I stayed up an extra hour
looking at you.
You are perfection, child.
There is glitter on your sleeping cheek,
just beneath your eye.
I wonder how it got there.
I wonder why.
