Four A.M., Possibly Wednesday
I kissed your hair in the nothingness of morning.
I put my lips to your shoulder as still you slept,
replaced the blanket that kept you a child.
I lay my hand on your hip, and for a moment thought
I heard your dreams released in a sweet, warm breath.
But you told me later that your sleep was dreamless,
and I told you I dreamed, but did not sleep,
for fear sleep would have stolen my dream.
Comments about this poem (Four A.M., Possibly Wednesday by Anton Leyland )
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