His face is sleeping now,
his body rests,
he is away in fiction of his mind.
Who knows what he is dreaming.
I count his breaths a minute,
touch his skin, embrace.
White cotton is his warm cocoon
in this early morning air
till he wriggles out of the envelope, I watch.
The giggling sunlight finds his body amusing.
I wonder what goes on
underneath his trembling eyelids.
Where is he now, will he be back.
He turns over slowly,
an arm finds me and then forgets.
His breathing stops, I give a push,
he grasps for air.
I can not die, because of him.
Because he might be needing me.
Night after night I shall be watching,
not dying, because of this.
Because the sunlight and me are in love
with a man between two cotton sheets.
And he knows nothing of all this. He is asleep.