Love Sleeps

Love sleeps in the crook of his arm

now anchored with the weight

of her head, but it has slept under bridges

barely able to rouse itself


and en route between places

no longer named

and in conversations half-held

in smells and sounds wrenched free


and homeless. It sat looking from a distance

at what it imagined was there but

had neither arms nor legs

to crawl. It sleeps now where he


thought it might once when prone to personify

but it sleeps with her and with him

like a cat purring its dreams

foreign thing.


4 thoughts on “Love Sleeps

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