A fever dream in the afternoon
I am the bird that continues
To fly into the window
And hasn’t yet died
The fever dreams have
Forced me beyond the
Typical gross hallucinations
And even though I can see
And even though I can hear
Neither one of us apparently cares
.
The Morning
It’s early in the morning
No car has left the parking lot
To go into work on a Monday
I sat at the table in my boxers
And my watch waiting for you
To awake so I can tell you
Just how much I love you.
I dread the hours we spend apart-
You’ve rented out all the rooms
In my head and I’m happy
That whatever door I open, you are there.
Now, I’ll stop writing and cuddle you
Closely until you have to rollover and get up.
This morning, my love, I choose you.
© Grant M. Armstrong
Grant M. Armstrong lives around Kansas City, Kansas. His work has appeared in WINK, Blue Lake Review, Allegory Ridge, and other outlets.
The Loch Raven Review 