wishful think [part one of many]

wishful think [part one of many]

once again,

man in my bed last night.

but unlike before

in every other way,

Including the man himself.

So why am I writing a poem about him?

Maybe it’s because I wish this poem was about

doing the dangerous dance?

This man just sleeps in my bed,

eyes closed, breathing slow,

laying beside me.

Our feet are tangled,

but that’s the only thing.

Warm hugs,

movie marathons with friends,

and a warm body in my bed.

My, oh my,

How different was last night.

Yet,

I find myself wishing

that I was writing about waking up,

awkward smiles,

and warm hands caressing my tense shoulder blades.

But maybe in time,

I will.

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