insomniac

it's alright,
it will come back.
your eyes will graze over pastoral plains
and the strokes will follow
the rag-tag, scattered
grain that you've found
in a heap, maybe,
i don't know where.
i've seen you take my eyes and
like amber, trap in them every puddle of emotion
and scratch them
into paper
for me to read and regret,
admitting and falling sleeplessly upon a pillow of jealousy.

it's okay.
be who you are,
and forget that you're forgetting
the sweeping stones
that once we frolicked through
(as best we could),
knowing only that we conceived
on a rock a baby of sorts made of words
and smiles.
we'll learn from each other yet,
or else build our fences higher, good neighbors,
allies against a world of
eyes we've never met
and mouths we've never kissed,
thoughts
we don't dare to
think

because we're convinced that we've lost them.