Me, My Head

Every night you climb into bed with me,
my head, and whisper dreams that I could never
dream without you. The light of some pale bulb outside
my window cannot illume your body nor your beauty
overshine, but it can make me hate

the world’s banalities, shut out that orange
half-light and see more clearly you. Would it be
too much to ask you not to sleep with me, my head,
because I am too tired in the morning of finding
you gone like mist caught in a child’s hands.