The pages are done
Writing ahead
A quiet flurry of
Activity as your soft breath
Whispers of rest calling
Letting you sleep
Whilst I attend to my purpose,
This part of me
The certainty of self
Dutiful and oftentimes
Holding in the giddy sweeping
Boyhood we never relinquish
And still the sight of you
Brings it to the surface
Like blood underneath
Skin struck with a telling blow
But I am the rock
Soft only to your touch
But steadfast and I wonder
If it blunts my appeal
But I know no other way
Than this, the purpose and
Its strength, the sustenance
And my goals, polished but not
Stainless
You alongside them
And so, pages done,
I wait for you to awaken
A sleepy smile
And here comes the rush
All over again.
MB Blissett 