Marking Time, Waiting for Sleep

 The wet thump in your chest,

at first pogoing my skull,

before slowing to a muted meter.

Sound of you drifting.

Peel the sheet,

feel the fan that I only like now.

You're a deathly monolith ,

save for the loud exhales through your nostrils.

I think of the butt of your palm against my labia.

Painful. Thrilling.

Like the way you stood

too close to me two nights ago,

laughing jollily at something I said,

while I remained casual about

my husband wandering the bar.

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