If I could cup my hand behind your neck
and lay you down to rest, curled in my lap.
I’d have no expectation but the feel
of soft hair in my steady hand. You’d sleep;
I’d sing until your eyes were closed, your breath
was deep. My only expectation then
would be to stare my love into your dreams.
You’d go to peaceful places void of all
the expectations in the mundane world.
And once your soul and body found the rest
they need, I’d watch you wake; I’d stroke your hair.
My final expectation then would be
to see the blue I know within your eyes
and touch my lips upon your waking lips.