Saturday, June 4, 2011

The exorcism

This wakefulness is an evil spirit
Inhabiting chubby cheeks
And puffy red lips
He pouts, smiles
Has to pee and is thirsty
All in one little minute
His feet tap, his nose sniffs
Eyes flutter and hands
Compulsively caress
Anything, so long as he isn't still
That demon known as motion
Will not let go of him
My spirit grows tired, my eyes are heavy
He smiles ever so sweetly
"There's a monster," he whispers
And I smell pickles on his breath as he yawns
Then turns his head
He is ready to sleep
But my heart is full
And moved, the motion
Has been exorcised
It has left him
And found me.

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