2 A.M. Sirens
Last night I held the moon.
Our heads contained to one pillow.
I wondered, as he shined before me, if he could read my thoughts.
Or sense the emotions that were running through my body, like the blood in my veins.
I observed his reaction, as I brought a particle of crushed ice,
Gingerly to his lips, so that he could taste.
I began to wonder if he loved the color green.
Would his pulse rise like mine?
At the waking calls of 2 a.m. sirens.
As I held him, I asked if he could stay.
To hold me as I dream.
His smiled a tired smile,
Kissing my forehead,
Pulling me into him,
Cradled together like infants.
Our eyes became heavy,
And his light began to dim with the song of the 4 a.m. robin.
This morning I woke up,
Holding the sun.