When You Sleep

Few Things Are Far Sweeter

When you sleep, you sleep with both hands tucked behind your head, the exact same position your brother slept in when he was an infant.

You sometimes kick your feet up in the air, and I can tell you are really asleep when they finally drift down and settle against the bed.

You move your lips as if you dream of nursing, with your sweet cream breath and tiny pink tongue.

You are sometimes happy and laughing, and other times sad and complaining, your beautiful brown eyes shut tight with lashes so long they cast shadows, dreams without words running through your mind.

Your cheeks are the perfect shade of skin, fair and irresistible, the stuff fairy tales are made of, and I can’t help but rest my fingertips against them.

When you sleep, I get absolutely nothing done, because I get caught staring at you and the promise that you are. I find myself thinking of poetry, words like “breath-taking,” and “angelic,” and “serene,” flitting across my brain, disjointed adjectives for thoughts larger than I can hold.

When you sleep, I can’t wait for you to wake, so I can scoop you up and press you against my chest and kiss you on the bridge of your nose, the perfect fit for the shape of my lips. I can’t wait to earn one of your heart-breaking smiles, and listen to your curious voice, and answer your need to be near me. I can’t wait to hear you say, through every movement and smile and finger-reach you offer me, that my heart is safe in your hands.

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