To Rest in You

I did not come here to wish you good night,
when all my nights are choked with vengeful thoughts
and vivid memories so cruel
they keep me wet with winter sweat
or steam my summer sheets,
anticipating my homecoming eve.

I’ve quite forgot
what good nights might look like.

Your sweet, unburdened sleep
I will not sour
with foul penitence,
unearned by my unresting soul,
which dreams only
to rest in you.

I did not come to say good night,
but hope in nights more sweet to come,
when bush-friends refuse to bend
and innocent lips refuse to peel back
and reveal pink, lying Tom;
your dirty thumb to plug red eyes,
and bunkbed lies
and impassable doors unlocked,
and still only cries—
cries for right Christmas guesses,
and learning my lessons,
and short-pulled seats,
and what’s wrong with your sheets?

I’ve forgotten good nights.

But let me rest a while with you,
my head upon your sleeping back,
and like a loud, dunked bathroom ear
I’ll fade into tonight.

I didn’t come here to wish you good night,
but beg some of your good night.