• Robert Beveridge


Sun creeps through the blind

rests a finger on your cheek.

You shift in your sleep

draw my hand down

across your thigh.

It is time to get up, shower,

prepare for work.

I would no more wake you

than I could turn back the sun.

Robert Beveridge (he/him) makes noise (xterminal.bandcamp.com) and writes poetry in Akron, OH. Recent/upcoming appearances in Panoply, Sage Cigarettes, and Neuro Logical, among others.