Instead of fighting it –
my feet free and spread out
underneath expanses of cold comforter –
I embrace it. I crash on couch cushions
made from the fabric of the dead,
and my shoulder aches for it.
It aches for you.

You find no sleep in normalcy,
no sleep in the strike of midnight.
Sleep instead finds you and drags you
unwilling with mouth agape and limbs curled up –
and then beside you it finds me.

Sleep and I are friends like old lovers leisurely laced together
with knowing glances and plans to meet,
and Sleep understands why I am here tonight.
There is a love of mine flash frozen on the floor,
unnaturally positioned, at my feet,
from where Sleep snuck in to steal him
and I am here because there is no other place for me.

The contortion
of arms and legs all stiff
and unwieldy
from sleeping on our sofa
is a price I’ll pay to have our skin
kept safe in shared slumber.

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