Sleepover

barely two hours on

and she is up again

before midnight,

jealously climbing between us

and without a word, returns

to the arms of Morpheus

I blink and hear her whisper

Papa! what time is it?

4.15am beams apologetically

to meet my reluctant stare

and after parrying two more

whispered rapiers 

we rise

sitting in silence at the kitchen table,

biscuits and milk for her

black coffee and The Oldie for me, 

we await daylight,

later that evening, around seven

our charge dispatched

back to her parents,

whole sentences fade to blank

from our discussion

about the day, about her, about us

and so we surrender to sleep

*

© Graham R Sherwood 11/21