I wake in a green leather chair

vaguely remembering you tried

to wake me hours ago.


You are asleep upstairs,

sleeping on your side,

blanket covering only your feet,

a nude a painter

might trade his soul for.

Your lamp is lighted so I can find you,

though I’m unable to master the code

of the dream you’re having.


Together, we have become lonely again.


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By | 2012-01-07T21:07:41+00:00 December 26th, 2011|Pear Season & The Boy Who Ate Dandelions|0 Comments