3 a.m.
i drift.

it is dark.
though not yet as dark
as it will be.

they say the darkest hour
is the one
just before the first light.

my eyes adjust.

i watch you sleep, my dream,
following the lines of your back
with eager eyes.

you awaken, like
you always do when
you know i’m watching you.

these are awakenings that surpass
the mere opening of eyes.

i want to speak, but…
the words cling to the roof
of my mouth.

i am filled with arrows, my dream,
questioning, which of us will quiet
the heaving flesh of this storm?