the quiet times

its the quiet times i love
those silent moments
when you are in my arms
fast asleep

the light from the moon
gently streaming through
slats in the blinds
painting your form with
stripes of light and dark

the quiet times
when i see your chest rise and fall
your generous mounds
grow and recede with each breath

you press outward my arms
with each in-breath
and fall back closer
with each exhalation
moving without movement

the quiet times
the gentle ticking
of the clock on my dresser
counting the seconds that I can hold you

until dawn breaks the spell
that has been cast over me
each precious second etched
indelibly in memory
building my catalog of you

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