Buttons

It’s 2 AM
and I’m watching you sew
gold buttons on your suit jacket,
your eyes narrowed,
your teeth clenched
in concentration.

Your glasses are crooked
because I stepped on them the other day
when we fell asleep on the living room floor.
You haven’t shaved in a week,
but
it’s too late for that.
I’ll do it in the morning,
you say.

But
I’ve already crawled into my
lofted twin-size bed
and
fallen asleep.

I left the door open
for you.

It’s 6 AM
and I’m not sure if it was the sun
or your kiss
that woke me.

I untangle my legs from the sweaty sheets
and wrap them around yours.

Your face is half-buried in my red pillow,
but I see part of a smile,
a dimple on your unshaven cheek,
your right eye, closed,
your thick eyelashes,
your dark, ruffled hair,
the sunlight glowing through the dusty blinds,
on your face,
on your sleepy grin.

We kiss and for a moment
I’ve forgotten how tired I feel,
and you’ve forgotten about your interview,
while your suit jacket hangs
below my bed,
its gold buttons
gleaming
in the sunrise.