Poems by Rose

Nine Hours

 

Don’t promise me morning.

Don’t tell me you’ll stay.

I have learned what forever

can mean by midday.

 

Just let me lie here,

my head on your chest,

and borrow your heartbeat

to bargain for rest.

 

Let me listen—

that low, level sound,

your breath rising softly

while mine settles down.

 

Let your fingers move slowly

through strands of my hair;

let warmth be the language

that keeps me there.

 

Let me breathe you in—

clean soap against musk,

earthy and warm

in the hush before dusk;

 

that salt on your skin,

that soft, velvet trace—

a scent I can follow

to sleep in this place.

 

I don’t need your hunger.

I don’t need to be kissed.

Some nights, being wanted

is smaller than this.

 

I want skin without asking,

a hand without claim,

a body beside me

that quiets my name.

 

Because I am tired

of watching the doors,

of keeping one ear

on the creak of the floors;

 

of sleeping half-ready,

of waking too fast,

of carrying tomorrow

before night has passed.

 

So give me nine hours.

 

Nine hours to loosen

my fists from the fight.

Nine hours to lay down

my life for the night.

 

Nine hours where maybe

I matter to you,

where wanted feels almost

like something true.

 

Where your arms make a room

I don’t have to defend,

and for once I can rest

without watching the end.

 

I don’t need to know yet

if you’re gentle or good,

if daylight will find you

as tender as it should.

 

Tonight, I can make you

a man I can trust—

not because you have earned it,

but because I must rest.

 

For nine quiet hours,

I can soften my spine,

stop standing on guard

at the edge of my mind.

 

I can make-believe loved.

Make-believe adored.

Make-believe someone

would notice I’m worn.

 

Make-believe I am precious

without proving my worth;

that I don’t have to brace

for the drop back to earth.

 

And morning can have me—

 

the woman who wakes,

who gathers the pieces

and shoulders what breaks.

 

You may turn out cruel.

You may turn out kind.

You may already be gone

when I open my eyes.

 

The sheets may be empty.

Your heat may have fled.

 

But for nine hours, darling—

 

let me sleep

like nothing can hurt me

outside my head.