soul.

Perhaps
I will never know if words
uttered
in loose lipped languages
that we will only speak
when the rest of the world tires
are anymore than that

but
I don’t mind.

Souls hovering
just above short breaths.
In private tears begging the wall
for a shift in the shadow
of chests rising and falling
away
from each other.

An aura
of deep blue
surrounds the foot of the bed,
an angel come with too many eyes
to tell me that when the alarm goes off
in the morning
I have a choice.

I am not too forgotten yet
to pray to God
but maybe if you stay there
breathing softly,
unaware that this pillow will still be wet tomorrow,
I just might.