D.H.
while you’re asleep,
I make breakfast –
brew coffee,
spread peanut butter
thick on toast –
the knife presses into the bread.
you sleep on your stomach –
one leg on top of the covers.
I run a finger
along the hollow behind your knee.
you stir.
light moves through
your hair, funny
how it’s matted at the back.
your baseball cap
by the nightstand.
you like to leave traces:
toothpaste on the mirror,
a wet towel,
chip crumbs in the bed,
a bruise on my thigh.
I don’t mind.
you know what’s most shameless about you?
not being naked,
not the way you straddle me,
not how afterward
you walk barefoot around the room
without bothering to cover yourself,
but the certainty
with which you say:
“see you tomorrow.”
as if tomorrow
were a place
we could both
count on
being let into.
and then
I take you by the back of the neck
and say:
yeah.
see you tomorrow.
see you tomorrow
© Copyright: Эл Стайн, 2026
Свидетельство о публикации №126090400430
Свидетельство о публикации №126090400430
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