Morning Mutes - Hightide Hotel

I remember when you said from the far side of the bed it «felt like it set your

fingertips on fire» every time that we held hands

You always hid your head beneath a winter’s-worth of blankets when you admitted

to your thoughts, so hesitant, so slow, and short of breath

As if both born mute, we choose to pen our thoughts instead: a written record

of the inside of our heads

Coming-to at noon while skipping work or classes to catch the sunlight as it

caught each strand of our eyelashes

And it was hard to feel much guilt, and even harder not to shake,

when I would wake to our alarms paired with the stillness of your sleeping

face

Motionless mornings spanned out into quiet afternoons, both unaware and without

care of the world outside our rooms

And I am young.

And I’m alive.

And I will not apologize, not for what feels

right

We’re keeping quiet because we’d hate to be found out.

My mind’s a riot,

alive with hope, and with a rising doubt

There is a place for all this fear, although there’s no spare room in my bed

It’s built for two, just me and you, leaving no room for our anxiety, or fear,

or for any of our regret

And I just don’t feel that sorry for this yet, and I won’t anytime too soon

I’ll bet