when I toss and turn restless,
I do not count finite sheep, but
instead count the infinite unknowns
till I drift aimlessly to sleep.
Baffling all I do not know
and likely will never know;
I could count them till I die
and not even need sleep.
Such as do you bite your lip
when you are deep in thought?
The smell of your morning breath
or how you dance or
if you'd dance with me or
how you'd dance with me.
How do you eat plums? Do you
nibble, or gnaw, or slice it up?
Do you dog ear pages of library books
or sigh before sliding into bed?
When did you last cry and why,
and how do your hands move,
piano fingers or gorrila grip?
Can you read my mind?
Would you like to visit
a historical dollhouse with me?
Is it odd to even ask without knowing
how you tackle museums?
How do you think of me, if ever,
at all? Do you count sheep or
do you count all you do not know?
Your list so much shorter than mine.
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