Your eyes are spoons and forks. You ask me, “Above the clouds, do you sleep?”
I nod and show you nylon sheets, metal rods, carabiners, every magic charm
needed for floating thousands of feet above. You ask me, “Do you enjoy
the harnesses and helmets? Is it the perspective you most enjoy?”
I don’t say it’s knowing you’re somewhere in this same world asleep
wishing I lay next to you that tethers me to this peak. You charm
me more than summit, goat, grappling hook, crampon; there is no charm
in risk if there’s nothing to risk, and you, you are everything. I can’t enjoy
the pulling away, the ascent, the rappel, the landfall, the unpacking, the sleep.
So sleep; charm my dreams. Like me, enjoy the sweet suspension.
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