new year’s eve will feel just like any other day
of you on the sofa asking me where’s the tv remote
i’m too lazy to move from your thighs
are my pillow and i find them more relaxing
than whatever you’re going to pick as tonight’s entertainment
i will oversleep again,
not knowing what comes after the fourth sequence
starts yawning even before first-base stuff because
you’ve been gently running your fingers
between my hair, to cheek, to chin
to send me to sleep
and dream — despite i already have what i’ve been dreaming of:
you. i will wake up to my granted dream
once again, and again, and again, and
new year’s day will feel like any other day
where you will have that morning breath,
dried up drools, messy hair, and sore arms
from spooning me all night
you treat me well, you know that right?
nothing will feel new on any new year when you’re finally here
in the meantime, i’ll write some poems before i sleep
and dream that you read it
maybe one day, this dream will come true
and i will feel like it’s nothing new
