i’d rather

I have, many many thing to do
and I will regret this in the morning.
There are tinges of dusk coating
my pillow, and you are sleeping,
beautiful on my pillowcase.
I cannot leave or make you leave,
and you are predictable like
the comfort sounds of rain outside.
This time we slept through a storm together,
and I decide that I don’t remember
the word regret ever being paired with you.

4/13 poem

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