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Bridges Built

It’s easy to imagine the softness of your sleep. From here I watch your silent form arrayed in still repose. The angles of lethargic limbs shape patterns on your bed. The rhythmic rise, responsive fall of each slow breath Reflected in your chest, reminds that reality is near. What would I give to touch you gently, Pressing you to dream, of things not fantasy nor fairy-dust But rather the regard, that I although a world away, am closer than you think. I know that I would lean toward the beauty of your cheek. Perhaps to softly touch you there or place a gentle kiss. I promise not to wake you. That would not be fair: To make you surface while submerged Deep in the ocean of the night. I wonder where you wander in this calmness of the storm. The centre of our burdened days and earthly hours of life. If I could come and play with you I would. Right by your side I’d choose to be, exchanging smile for smile. But dreams are dreams and days are days and so I’m forced to lie Awake upon this bed of mine and bridge our distance in my mind.
Bridges Built

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