I could be showering.
I could be making a sandwich,
or sitting, by myself, embraced by the sweet nothingness of an empty room.
But: here I sit, pressed beneath you as you sleep,
your occasional sip sip…sip…sip sip…
the sometimes soft massage of your lips…
If I were to break free, you would wake before your time,
so I try not to fight it.
I accept you into my embrace.
I accept your nestled sleep.
I accept your fingers, splayed across my sides.
Don’t rush.
There is no rush.
Wake up slowly, and
in your own time.
There are years ahead filled with early alarms
and scores upon scores of empty rooms.
I press this moment against me.
For now: I am with you.
by Erin Wetzel
