tightly to you

I hear you moan
in your sleep,
and part of my brain
shuts down:
"what if it is not
my name?"

I hear you murmur
in your sleep,
and my neck crains
to hear:
"is it my name
or not?"

and then I close my eyes,
secure in the bonds
that are not ties,
only the flowers, the fronds,
that hold me ever so
tightly to you.

April 2, 2009.

Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.

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