love me awake, part ii

on the night of the day you first read

one of my poems

you climbed into bed and i asked:

did you like it?

i did, you said, 

but i’ve been a fan of your work for years

nodding towards the 2-year-old

sprawled on the floor bed at the foot of ours

“i like that piece of poetry you made, too”

how lovely, i thought,

to feel understood as an artist

as i slipped into a dream

in the cover of darkness

that piece of poetry

climbed into the big bed

preferring the blanket of my arm to the one on the ground

in the reveal of morning

he looked at me

smiled a gallon with pint-sized lips

threw his arms around my neck and kissed whatever he could find

how lovely, i thought

how poetry slips into our most intimate spaces

and loves us awake