The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you.
Don’t go back to sleep.
You must ask for what you really want.
Don’t go back to sleep.
People are going back and forth across the doors
where the two worlds touch.
The door is round and open.
Don’t go back to sleep.
by Rumi
The Pillow that Became You
You consist of downy feather.
Became a fifth of your original size
and just a fraction of your weight.
You’ve lost all the melanin that hued you,
Now you’re neutral and lily white.
More plump.
Less personal.
More silent treatments.
Less arguments.
You make me want to go back to sleep.
This is my gradual way of letting you go.
The white flag over tea and cookies.
There were too many gunshots before.
Artillery shells carpeted the bedroom floor.
There are no true winners in war.
It was the fighting that killed us.
I hold you tightly nightly, daily if my schedule allows.
Lovers wonder why I don’t cuddle with them,
or share intense stares.
They swoon if I don’t spoon,
flip over on their backs and roll their eyes like dice.
Maybe I’d be more sensual in bed if you were hidden.
Too big for the dresser drawer.
I could tuck you under cover and blanket
and make love over the sheets like the heartless do.
You’ve made me a celibate wreck.
I’m officially single but unofficially still yours.
Your remain my singular regret.
Maybe it’s better this way.
Ages have past and now your scent has aged on my bed sheets.
Smells of crushed rose and trampled intentions.
I mention you as small talk on road trips and airplane rides
when travelers ask why I brought you along.
I want to go back to sleep.
Let me wean with this baby bottle.
Let me fast with cloth and cushion like the children do.
Stay inanimate for me just a little while longer
so I can heal in absentia
of the woman that is probably way over me.
by Dorian “Paul D” Rogers
