I could stay up and not sleep at all,
finish my novel,
sip hot tea,
pet the dog,
be poetic and ridiculous.
But I could be pragmatic,
and return to bed,
and be slightly less cranky
for two hours of sleep.
The first appeals more to me,
but then I remember
that boy I've left in bed
and I know where my heart lies.
He will not wake up without me.
It is simple;
I return,
novel unfinished,
essay unwritten,
water hot on the stove.
Love comes first.
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