My jumpers fabric tickles your face,
You start to uncoil and almost wake,
My breath stills,
Silence except for the ticking of the grandfather clock,
Tick tock, tick tock,
It resonates in my ears,
Like a whisper spoken too loud,
But your dark eyes stay shut,
Your black feathery lashes soft on your face,
And my body unclenches,
I don’t know what stops me waking you,
Is it the child like way you sleep?
The fears you gained too young erased in a moment,
Your body curled like a panther cub,
Softly smiling,
Dreaming sweet nothings.

No. Theses are just excuses.

It’s that if I wake you I have to tell you what I feel inside,
What I’ve done, become,
And I can imagine your face,
The way you will stare at me,
The crease of your brow,
Clench of your fist,
And your mouth will turn down at the corners,
Biting your bottom lip so hard that the pink turns to red,
Opening up that small splinter of a gash again,
Trying so hard no to raise your voice,
Keep that calm composure you pride yourself on,
Will you be angry or disappointed?
Talk softly or shout?
At least I’ll never know because this secret shall die with me,
And I only see my guilt when I’m awake.