Just When I Thought I Would Sleep

Just when I thought I would sleep, and catch up on that little breath of oblivion
That everyone seems to be striving for in vain these days, you called me,
And I knew that it would be another night with my thoughts.

It’s not that we exchanged any extraordinarily meaningful conversation tonight;
We chatted with that same quiet elation we have maintained since
Our first ever true conversation, making fun of Palin
(Yes, I remember. That was the first).

It’s just how, for the briefest second after we finish our last “I love you”s,
There’s a moment, sighing somehow with both silent euphoria
And endless patience, where I get to write poetry.

Damn it.

Just when I thought I would sleep.

This is my version of a love poem, so I guess I should make love. Ah, how punny.
(He says with an awkward smile and an upward twitch of the brow).
But no, there’s better ways to navigate the effervescent tumult.

Maybe I’ll ask a question.

How is it that you get more beautiful every time I see a new picture of you, and thrice that every time I hear your voice?
How is it that you make me keep secreting art, as if from some impossible gland, whenever I think your name?
I’ve tried writing monologues, poems, songs, both inside my head and out.

But you transcend every medium.

How is it that I’m not even the tiniest bit tired, when hours ago I stumbled my way around this space, eager for the first moment I could rest my head?
How is it that I can’t make my sleep-weighted lids close because one of those
Infuriating cherubim inspires me to sing your praises?

I’ve tried lying still, thinking of other things, working to stop the work.

But you animate me.

How is it that I can’t find thoughts too cliché to describe these ideas you inspire w/in me?
How is it that I can’t stop needing to describe every inch of you, failing, and trying more?
I’ve tried; ah, your eyes are the happiest of azure storms, your hair a silken scarf
That dries my every tear of sadness or unease. I want to rest and prepare for the
Next time I can feel you by me, and know

All will be well,
And all will be well,
And all will be exceedingly well.

But you make me try to find words no tongue has ever articulated,
In the language just behind the eyes, where everything is feeling in the rawest form.

So what do you have to say?
What unheard-of fortune would let me happen upon you?
I am a child before the Throne of God, and I understand that prayer isn’t true worship;
It is basking in the undulating beauty that you exude without thought, awareness, vanity.

I long to be with you again.
Thoughts of you travel across the paths
Of my mind with the soft, satisfying crunch of tires on gravel,
And all I want is to hear you open the front door and come home.

But all of that aside,
I have only one thought that must
Get through before I collapse, exhausted, and vow,

(As I did last night and the night before), not to stay up daydreaming of you again.

You mean more to me than life itself, and every word in this rant
Is as insignificant to my thoughts of you as an amoeba is to the glory of the cosmos.

I love you.

Damn it.

Just when I thought I would sleep.

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