My Pillow

I admit I find it hard to sleep at night.
My legs squirm around the bed feeling around for yours.
All that remains is the faint smell of your skin-
the smell of your cologne.
I eventually drift into my dreams.

In the morn, I awake.
It's the same lame game,
"where's the smell on that pillow?".
I am lost- I am found.
My addiction is fed again.

I lust for those arms that pinned me down.
I thirst for your passion untamed devouring me again and again.

The Thoughts of I

it crawls
in my skin
it gets my attention
loosening the binds
of an unconscious world
thoughtless in their ingestion

it's what it takes
to make a change
you learn to listen
you listen to learn
and forgive yourself when you falter

and I notice how I resist
how I fear the mystery
the impermanence of self
I cry inside for everything to stop
victimize and scrutinize
it shakes me into panic

but my body
and soul
they are so efficient
so diligent
undeniably more intelligent than "I"
the thoughts of "I"
the finite "I"
so I reprogram my fearful dialogue
and the honoring of a vessel
into words of trust
into gentle nourishment

I'm reminded again
that the call to consciousness
is faithful