Insomnia dehydrates
Each sip of your breath
My parched ears drink.
A bus snores up our street
Plowing its headlights
Through our curtain.
“False dawn,” the streetlights crow.
Why did you say no?
At midnight the tapping begins,
Softly at first,
Fleeting pains in my belly and chest,
Fear of death.
At two the tapping grows louder,
My heart thumping like a rat on speed
Banging a tiny tin drum.
If I had a knife I’d cut off its paws.
Three-thirty stretches and yawns,
Then veers away and disappears
Somewhere north of outer space.
At four I get out of bed,
Stand in front of the window
And stare at the moon,
A silver sleeping pill
Bathing the garden
In a soft decaffeinated glow.
Exhausted, I crawl back in bed
And feel your fingertips
Gently stroke my arm
Seconds before I fall asleep.
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