Dear Boy Poet,
Last night, after you'd returned from work, you
dropped your backpack
in the middle of my writing space. You pulled off
your shoes,
and began to retell your day with a loudness I'm
still not used to.
The ideas and half-formed lines (from an afternoon
of silence)
fell like glass marbles.
Later, on the computer, you typed a new poem. I
listen
to the speed of the tapping and know you've found
that zone
which so often seems to evade me.
And, for a moment, I am jealous and resenting...
This morning, I eased myself away from your warmth,
quietly
made black coffee and settled back into thinking.
At seven your alarm began to cycle through those
sounds
(specifically chosen to force you from our bed).
By half past, you've pressed the snooze button six
times
and I'm forced to leave my thoughts behind
to wake you.
Our differences sometimes cause us to clash,
but our similarities always bring resolution.
For every time you have made a picnic, coaxed me
into the car and taken me to a place that allows my
mind
to breath - I thank you.
