if you rip the sheet
it will tear straight
crisp weave giving way
to frayed
soft
fading edges
those are nice
while I sleep
anyway
I stir a soup
of stars
ladle out the constellations
with the big dipper
the ink stains the back of my hand
and a stray ladybug
that looks alive
falls from the fan
where its house
was made of dust we couldn't reach
I can't stop doodling when I talk to you
I draw magnificent beasts
and stars
and oceans
and I will not go to sleep
but wait
for the pale light to kiss your curls
why would I sleep
my time is passing
I do not want to waste it