Keys, Stepping Stones in an Early Morning

It’s rainy outside.
You’re fast asleep.
Each breath is a new awakening.

The clouds are grey,
crumpled up pieces of paper.
Tear soaked frustration leaks
from this sky.

Who is the writer?
What made them cry?

I’m wide awake
as I listen to your dreams,
your strength and calmness
terrifies me
as I tremble like a leaf.

We’ve shared a bed for a year now
the boundary lines have bled
through arguments,
and tangled, silly wrestling
and yet
my foot is always reaching;
foot to calf, I’m in paradise.

What happens when we dream together
and the silence ceases?
Will, like our similar breaths,
find ourselves both reaching across the mattress?

In your slumber
you reach for my hand.
Hello cowboy,
did my typing wake you again?

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