between sleep · creative freedom · dialogue · free form · inner harvest · writing

random writing from an old November draft

between sleep:

i wonder if my hands get tired of keys. or if it makes running them across the strong back of my lover even more satisfying. i turn on the music, and it’s a slow slow lag, a lazy, dreaming drum, my hum, oh my hum is barely audible now, my love is not loud. we sleep. we sleep together. and sleep apart. backs turned to face our own wall. our backs, a bridge between the room. i could run. i could cross that riverbed, i could jump right in, and make a splash, but the splash is too loud. the splash would wake us. i inch my back a little closer to his, so he can feel my need while we sleep, a soft need, not a splintered need, not a ropeburn need, not a rash. just a quiet warmth. a cozy nudge that there is still some earth between us.

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