By low lamp light and long after
the sun has said its goodbyes
Our weary and tired eyes
run across unfolding pages
Seeking all the knowledge
that by the light of day passed us by
And losing daylight hours
in the process

We lean drowsily in reading chairs
against bookshelf backdrops
Watching raindrop reflections
roll thoughtfully down window panes
Borne along their whimsical way
by subtle midnight breezes
That dance strands of hair
from our eyes like ballet

Our split screen symmetry
is separated by mere miles
Filling our solitary spaces
with a shared energy
So that each time my absent eyes
turn to scattering raindrops
I expect them to return
to find you here

Each page I turn is soft marked
with traces of your fingers
And your scent lingers
among allusions and allegories
I hear each word sing out
as though sprung from your alluring lips
And I find myself smiling
not knowing why

There is passion amid these worn out pages
and bookmarked thoughts
And the way your fingers
traced each word is almost erotic
Feeling my palms soft folded
against the small of your book’s spine
Makes me want to lose sleep
between its covers

The silence between phrases
pulses with such heated tension
That I cannot help but lose myself
in that silence so that
I might grasp the pieces
you let me see of your history
And warm them tenderly
in ardorous hands

The tired longing
of the early hours of the nighttime
Draws us both – at length –
to the comfort of our separate beds
Our internal rhymes slowly syncing
through shared breath and heartbeats
Dreaming of morning
reading between soft sheets

Photo by Natalie Grainger on Unsplash

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