We wear sweat like a badge of honor
as we fight towards the night’s last climax.
Afterwards we lay in near silence
while our chests heave in unison,
a pale reminder of the
orgasmic dance we shared.
The revolution of the ceiling fan
finally cools our flesh
and we reach for the forgotten tangle
of bedclothes, still damp with
the remains of our embrace.
Sleep steals into the room; she takes you
into her velvet depths, but
like a jealous lover, scorns me.
Night encroaches, not quietly,
but with a cacophony of sounds:
the whir of the fan,
the semi tractor’s change of gears,
the kitchen faucet’s drip,
your soft sounds of slumber.
I close my eyes, a prayer at my lips,
as I struggle for the release of sleep.
One tear falls before I drift away,
a moist reminder of pain held within,
hidden as I feign normalcy.