Eve Rounds

my bed

your discontent began
before your consciousness allowed yourself to fear it.
having special requirements for your horizontal state
i yanked the sheets out from my beloved hospital corners
so that you wouldn’t feel a tug at your feet.
so that you could kick my leg.
so that you could slap my face.
so that you could
lash
out
at me all night long and sleep more soundly.

while
i contorted myself
sleeping in the living room
and living in the bedroom
shall i count my blessings for not having to bathe in the kitchen sink?

and yet
your back aches upon waking
you can’t breathe out your nose
your dreams they all morph into nightmares

blame my carefully selected sleep number
accuse my ergonomically correct pillow
find fault in my way of living sunrise to sunrise alongside you.

revolving mattresses many times over and over and over and over and over and
never did satisfy your REM
replacing squares with rectangles and painstakingly folding them into antimicrobial cylinders
proved unsuccessful at holding your head. just right.
removing any obstacle that may potentially hinder your seven straight hours of smiling slumber was simply
impossible.

i shouldn’t keep you in my bed.
i couldn’t keep you in my bed.
i wouldn’t keep you in my bed.
i didn’t.

say your prayers to the couch that provided you with no more than a lonely and permanent comfort.

nighty night.

i don’t even know

how long it’s been. haven’t been counting days haven’t counted backwards on the calendar. haven’t bothered to reread my own words. haven’t been missing you

the five senses

your blue eyes and crooked lippy smile which i inherited that tiny soft bristle brush for your basically bald head the white corvette a campfire cards

love

what did falling in love feel like to you actual falling a new winter sweater a blood flutter did you question its science or were you

noise

sometimes the wind the waves muffle and drown my memories sometimes the wind the waves magnify and amplify the sound of your voice and clearing

the theatre

this is  a silent film flickering  catching  starting over emptiness surrounding such a blinding contrast ahead of us shared stories  captured images disconnected nonsensical we

Twins

It isn’t easy being a twin.   Others considered us as one two-part person,  while our parents saw,  in our conspiring, four or more.