I touched your hair
while you were asleep.
I stroked it
a little
not so much as to wake you, though,
clearly.

After all those hours
on the streets
and then waiting to get the keys
and finally entering your room
only to talk
for too many hours afterwards,
I could tell you were tired.
A geriatric muskrat
could tell you were tired.
I didn’t want to disturb your rest
but I couldn’t imagine
after our entire chaste afternoon
not touching you
for another instant.

I know it was inappropriate.
I get how it could be creepy.
I hope you don’t see it that way
and am glad, knowing
how, even unconscious,
you are the object of my affection.

On a related topic
I would like to know
if your conditioner
is good for boys, too.