Even as a kid I never fully believed that sleep would come. I would lie awake waiting suspiciously. But under the covers I found a cozy chill, the warm dark of a toothless maw, the tick of my pulse, a sneeze & an ache, a day home from school, a place to breathe secrets or to weep, farts, fears, oblivion, the occasional breast feather of a goose, & a far-off love whose only unchanging characteristic was a penchant for walking everywhere in bare feet. Her name, I suppose, was Sleep.
Purveyors of fine poetry since 2003.