Pillows, all fluffy and spongy. To absorb all those tears we shed every night, after living a nightmare. She shed tears today too, those that drip down her cheeks after living a sweet dream, inside out. And her pillow, glistened, with her tears on it, like pearls. Tears from a corner of her eyes, love from the core of her soul, a strand of hair over her moist cheeks that she brushed away with tender fingers, half of her face buried into her fluffy pillow as she talked to me, sleeping on her bed, sideways. There, in that moment, Carpe Diem. She seized the moment. Time ceased. I write poetry all night. And she was poetry today. The happy tears, her ink. The pillow, her quill. Me, her muse. And now, I write poetry about a breathing poem. Amused over a musing half buried in a pillow. Half buried in a pillow. Half buried in love.
