Mindful that i do not wake you, 
i have lit this corner, 
and from its glow 
where gold meets shadow, 
i memorize the slight smile 
of sleep on your lips, 
the way dark hair curls against the pillow 
as you dream your dreams, 

unaware that i have slipped away 
to guarded spaces where you touch, 
but cannot reach me. 

If I could call back minutes 
when you curved against my back, 
the rise and fall of your warm breath 
in rhyme with mine, 
i would allow desire to melt the space 
my wary heart can't close 
to let you closer. 

In hesitant longing, 
my lamp-lit quiet reaches out 
but does not touch you. 

It's best you sleep 
and dream the dreams I can't 
make real through invisible partitions 
evidenced only by the misted trace 
of my solitary breathing.

© Mara Broadaway