Love Poem #224
This must be what all these
poets keep writing about.
Sun rays replace moon beams,
hours slip into memories,
and the "do not disturb" sign sways
optimistic on the handle.
Dreams sit cross-legged
at the foot of our bed.
They don't think we can see them.
She told me I was beautiful
and I believed her.
Isn't that something to write about?