Pierre (II)

It’s two a.m. and
you can’t see.

The skewed sheets cling
to your coiled legs, now
springing goosebumps
against the open window

(you just want
to smell the night).

How can anyone sleep,
you think.
How can I go
alone again.

The dark is all
around you, enough
to drown, to swallow, and
you would be long devoured

were it not for that summer scent.

You feel a wide world
outside your window,
soon to be brightened,
soon to be yours,

so much bigger
than your hurt
could ever be.

Nowhere to look but up,
my love.
Nothing to do but stay.

by A.J.