without opening my eyes
I heard you walk back into the room
Crossing over to your bed
I heard you pause—
—you could hear every step on these floorboards—
My head was turned the other way
I didn’t feel like moving
so I can’t be sure of this
or if I made it up, but I
Thought I heard you whisper,
to yourself,
“Stop it.”
You could’ve been talking to
your phone
your body
I don’t know,
But if you were looking right at me—
Caught in a moment,
my neck in the sunlight,
by all accounts asleep—
The same way I have told myself
the same thing when I look too long
at you—lightest breath of a word—
Gale force that knocks me over—
Like you knock me out—
But you make me ramble;
If that was what was
all behind that word,
before you climbed back into bed
and I fell back to sleep?
Then believe me when I tell you:
Next time you don’t have to.
Next time, I don’t want you to.
But if it wasn’t all that, then don’t worry about it.
Never mind. Gift of Gab.
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