You Him
With You I wake with crust in my eyes
unable to unjust my sight
Disheveled and torn
can't put a comb through my hair
because you tangled and sweated in my roots
my jeans kicked under the bed
and I couldn't find my left shoe,
but my stuff really didn’t’ matter to you anyway.
With Him I wake with the sun
able to see the light in his smile, for it knows me
he combs his fingers through my hair
each strand falling adjacent to him
his room is peace
and my clothes folded away in his space
I think I’ll choose Him
And You can go away.
|