The eighteenth whisker on the left is brown
#16 of Poetry
From Eigengrau: https://makyo.ink/publications/eigengrau
The eighteenth whisker on the left is brown.
I know this after countless nights awake
beside you, watching every quiet breath.
You puff your whiskers out on every yawn.
On longer work-filled days, your whiskers wilt,
exhaustion softening your features, sleep
exerting subtle gravities to lead
you to oneiric seas and dreamlike sands.
I know this after countless nights awake.
I know, I know, it's strange to watch you sleep,
but when I can't, to know that someone can...
at least it somehow lets me rest in turn.
When I lay beside your sleeping form
I know there's rest to still be had for me.