Bedtime Story

Nestled under the sheets, blanket molded to your body as if the finest Paris plaster cast: you sleep. You sleep peaceful, innocent, blankly. No dreams. No nightmares. Nothing. Just the sweet reprieve of a long day’s adenosine accumulation.

My adenosine receptors are blocked. Caught in an epic battle with serotonin, dopamine, norepinephrine. The Great Vein of Galen. Coursing, rushing, blustering red like Rudolph (7 days till Christmas) (will you be there?)

I know what keeps us up at sleep. Worrying, waiting, wishing. W words are the Worst.

How do I explain my feelings for you? Like a knitted scarf, haphazard at best. holes and gaps every 15 knots and sometimes just too damn tight, the yarn curling over itself catching the neighbor knots and drawing them to its bosom. No—wrenching them to its bosom.

A scarf of my favorite colors, all knit together twirling and swirling together laughing and playing like dolphins in the sea. A scarf of the softest yarn, fuzzy and frayed from continuous use that tenderizes the thread even further until a veritable shearling blanket hangs around my neck.

A scarf so warm around my neck. Taming and befriending the bitter chills of the outside world into nothing but a gentle breeze like the cool caresses of mother’s hand on her fevered baby.

A scarf like a noose that—oh gulp, can’t breathe. Wheeze panic eyes bug out.

This is not a sex poem, not even a sensual narrative.

We don’t do much of that anyways and it hasn’t felt great for a while. Because I’ve been wearing the noose for a while.

Friends? Lies. Effort. Defeat. I don’t know. I’m not sure. You used the word dinky. And I heard dagger.

Is that the best I can do. friends?