the night was heavy and dark
like stone air descending through
our lambent slanted windows.
you jerked and rolled about
in your sleep, dubiously you
rattled off strung-out demon
words and whispers. what sort
of wrathful spirit sunk his miserable
talons into your shoulders? you collided
with an empty evening reaching
out with sleep stained hands for
faces that weren’t there.
“Who is cooking in the kitchen?” were the
last words spilled before you were
heaved back into blackness.
all I could do was watch and pray;
forsaken, impotent, and unfit. like
dying, we’re forced to meet sleep alone.