by Siobhan Potter
In the three breaths it takes for you to get to snoring,
I watch your face fall backwards through your life;
to a sleep that threatens to drag me into it.
I’m grateful for the hatred snoring brings.
64 years of hurt cascading,
brings me beyond what I can do, post orgasm.
Bed sharing is ridiculous; bed sharing my bed is ridiculous.
Our separate room policy, just that,
I am not leaving, this bed, my pillow.
My first thought is never, to wake you; tell you go to your own bed.
Sleep is precious.
Before I start thinking about getting your own pillow to smother you, I Google narcolepsy.
If I can’t love you, I can at least diagnose you.
Siobhan Potter is accredited with IAHIP and works in the mid-west as a body psychotherapist and artist; she is currently building a collection of spoken word poetry.