Alison Wells Author

Year of the Dog

Will you make a place for me

at the end of your bed?

I will lie

Against the shape

of long toes

in the crook of your limbs

waiting

guarding the morning against the night

holding your dreams in my mouth

spilled against the counterpane

but you are warm

and your breath dips and lifts

since the beginning

I have always been there

sentry of your longing

You wake, snuffling into life

You put your hand on my head

I lie under it.