i woke distraught
at three o’clock
my first thought
was to murmur
my love into the
surrogate pillow
the next three hours
were spent staring
at the ceiling
lost in the haze
of the turgidity
in irreconcilable
schisms in this
wondrous world of
half dreamt nothings

the neighbor was
screaming into the
same void i watched
but without the
subtle decency to
recall it never ever
screams back

there is a timeless
malaise inherent in
the witching hour
where the sands fall
in the nongravity
between consciousness
and dreamslurry
when you slip in and out
of morpheus’s soft grip
without noticing how
physics apply themselves
in vertiginous waves
never quite affecting
the rancid slick
betwixt states of being

i just clutch tightly
with her locked firm
in my ever fiercer
pulmonary heartshiver
fearing every crack
forming along my tender
slowly tearing me asunder