What do you want when you reach the end of wanting?
Something warm and soft to match your breath to?
Not sharp edges and restless sleep.
Not shadows casting shadows.
You reach for soft curves in the soft light.
You want sleep to come easy, chests that rise and fall as one.
But I am wide awake.
Do not reach for me.
I need this breath and these sharp edges.
The beginning is close enough to taste.
© Elizabeth McLaughlin