Asleep She's Amazing

I was looking through some of my old stuff, and in a large document where I keep all my poetry sequestered, quarantined if you will, from the rest of my writings I found this. I wrote it about a year ago, when we were still together. Probably around February, when I got my new terrible job. I don't have a lot of this stuff laying around, I don't think, so I have no idea what I'm going to do from now on when it's late and I have to work the next day and can't think of anything to write about. I want to write, my stomach wants me to write, and every now and then when something she used to do for me runs through my head or when I think of what she would say about some innocuous little chunk of my life I give some sad sack sigh that wracks my bones. All that, and I just can't get any words out.

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Asleep she’s amazing.
Her eyes can’t stare
Her brow doesn’t buckle in disapproval
Her eyebrows don’t rise,
With her questions
With that accusation, that attack
Asleep she’s amazing
Can’t pull away, can’t turn her head
She only smiles her little smile, just at the borders of her lips
She only breathes in bursts
Asleep she’s quiet
Asleep she’s perfection in skin and silence
I can touch her face
Like you’re meant to
Without her questioning, or my questioning
Or her doubts
Or my anger
I can touch her face
Because it looks so soft
And she can’t tell me not to
Asleep she’s amazing
Her face and her body
The blue light of the television
Colors her
And mutes imperfections
She looks so soft
Asleep she’s amazing
Because she doesn’t talk