Unpromisingly fulfilled.
This harshness of hesitance only builds.
I rearranged my nights,
in order to compromise your days.
Yet you sleep beside tranquility,
with warmth woven within your sheets.
With skin on skin graze.

At no default of hours gone,
or weeks sleeplessly evaporated at waste.

Yet you, remain.
Stimulated to the present state.
Invigorated, by words of such,
rekindled, with third-party touch.
Late evening piquing pick-me-up.

Yet,
in your absence;
you keep me awake.


© Aish