It's Still Life

Still

He’s fallen asleep in his chair.
The sun’s served its purpose today,
it’s nearly set, and his stillness is
in me. It’s not translatable.

He breathes, nearly unmoving.
He’s water within water.
His heartbeat sounds like
tiny footsteps. Running.

This man of mine is a paradox
of cyclones and soft breath.
Movement and salty stillness.
And he burns hotter than the sun.

He gave me his name,
and I gave him my heart.

Some artwork is created using Midjourney AI, and is identified as such in the ALT text or captioned. Imagery and poems ©Misky 2023.