The Watch

  It chips my manicure
But I lay there fiddling on.
The tip of my fingernail slips perfectly into the clasp of his watch.
He hasn’t woken up
But I’m not wanting him to.

His thick dark arm is a chicken wing in front of my face
His wrist -

His heavy-boned, furry warm wrist -

It’s the only part of him that’s dressed.

I love his wrist
I love his watch more.

I like what it says about him
About the important person he (sometimes) gets to be.

The smooth part below the watch is
A little moist from my breath.

There’s no hair there to get caught.

I like the fingers that cup my shoulder;
They cover it like a yawn.

I’m in the crook.
I still get to be under his chin -
Which is something.

A good, sweet prison.

The face of his watch is over the hill -
Far on the other side,
Too far for me to see.
It’s not for me to know the time.
He keeps the time for me.

So that I might sleep peacefully;

Unfussed,
  Unhindered,
Unworried,
 

                Unknown.