A Whole

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.

 

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