They arrive in paper bags,
yellow boxes with pop-out pills.
They tame the hummingbirds and the wolverines;
they do not keep the bedtime worries away.
I wake up in the night hoping and praying
that your snoring does not cease
and you continue to breathe.
I count your breaths:
one, two, a half, a whole,
adding up to one man.
We watch each other slumber at different times.
I savor the Saturdays,
the days we wake up together
and relax, for once.
He cooks, I type,
and we watch television together.
We wave at each other from across the couch;
he whispers hi and I say hello back.
One, two, a half, a whole.
From the corner of my eye, I catch his kind smile.