She wants more,
cracks open the door,
slowly shutting it
as he droans on,
drones on
and on
and when he asks
what she needs
“Nothing.”
“What do you want?”
“Nothing.
I was wondering who
you were talking to.”
And doesn’t that really ask
the penultimate question?
“Who am I talking to?
What am I talking to?
What am I talking to who about?”
Does it matter?
Why should I care?
As I slip into
the abyss
of Nyquil-induced slumber,
I can only hope my alarm
eventually wakes me up.
And then,
that I won’t need melatonin
to go back to sleep
again.
