listen.

i imagine that if you

were really asleep,

you were snoring.

unshy and natural,

quietly rattling

like you did,

on the bed,

breathing a warm 

but dimming light,

inhaling and

exhaling

as if the happily

ordinary night

left you

in a stranger's home.

and

unlike the morning

that followed

when you awoke

and awoke

and left

on your third

awakening,

closing the weightless door

as i waited for its 

heavy

click,

tonight

you simply 

went, still

unshy and natural,

but softer and faster,

and without hesitation.