Robert Beveridge

Distant thunder slips by outside
like your voice, soft
and deep, pliant.
Sometimes I trail
one finger down your back
scratch, light, with the nail
just to hear the dark, sweet purr
as you snuggle closer, a cat
full of cream and satisfied.
In your sleep, sometimes,
you whisper my name
invest it with warmth, softness
make syllables I’ve lived with
sound new, comfortable.
Now I sleep nestled
in your voice, warm, safe,
away from all care.


Robert Beveridge makes noise (xterminal.bandcamp.com) and writes poems just outside Cleveland, OH. Recent/upcoming appearances in Chiron Review, Third Wednesday, and Random Sample Review, among others.

The poems:

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