Treasure Island

Anton Leyland


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.

Submitted: Tuesday, October 25, 2011
Edited: Tuesday, October 25, 2011
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