Guest House

I still miss you.
Sometimes I wonder if you miss me
As much as I dream that you do.
If I am even a second thought, if you miss
Anything about me, period.
I don’t think I’ve ever squeezed you as tight as I do when I dream.
When I am asleep, everything feels real.
The feel of your skin.
The way the small of your back raises
When you breathe.
Your hair a mess, barely holding on to the pillow.

Apparently, dreams are the guest house to prayers.
Missing you hurts like hell, lying awake
In angst, not being able to enjoy the moment in full.
I don’t think I’ve ever squeezed you as tight as I do when I dream,
Your head in the crease of my arm.
I am not ready to wake up yet.
I am not ready for you to go.
Not ready for you to disappear.

When I dream,
Every word we say is silent,
And your heart beats next to mine.
You snuggle up close to me,
And everything in you just releases.
Just let me sleep a while longer,
I still feel safe when you’re around.
I still miss you when you’re not around.