peeling the layers
of an onion
the dried skin
flaking away
down to the off-white flesh
of the fruit
pulling the
separate layers
that tell stories
unfolding them one by one
and holding
the flesh to your ear
and saying yes

waking you, softly

 you,
 in this light
        
the smell of dreams
and sleep.

and i
breathe you

you unfolding from your sleep.

you to life
         
i
can hold onto this

I returned 
to the old books
because
I could not remember
their stories

what a decade does

the characters
so very different

I could not
reread the pages
I had once found
myself in

what decade does