• We possess a nightly ritual:
    As the sky darkens, our insomnia takes over
    And I slip into your bed although I do not plan to sleep;
    We move without thought,
    A mutual rush of necrophilia is upon us yet again,
    Our eyes stay open in a placid, sleepy state of bliss,
    Then our bodies mesh in mind-numbing ecstasy.

    The witching hour takes its toll,
    Am I dreaming or is this
    A decrepit sort of love-making?
    Whispering against my skin as I recall
    The feeling of your icy breath on my neck as
    My fingernails dig into the dead skin on your back.

    And our heartbeats are dripping with unconsciousness,
    While we tangle around each other in the night,
    My cheek upon your aching eyes that never sleep.
    Your skin molds itself around me, sweet and frigid.

    Sudden life arises sometime close to dawn,
    Can’t tell when I stopped,
    Or when you started, for that matter;
    Our bodies warm themselves again,
    Normal rhythm remains in my chest.
    Throughout the busy days I find myself
    Wondering if this mindlessness is healthy.
    But if this is sleep’s alternative, I’ll take it.