Turbulence of displaced warmth.
A shiver hooking limbs
with the lure of touches promised
by sultry eyes
now
closed to the world for the night.
Exiled
from mind.
Seduced by fatigue.
Your lover eloped with a dream
leaving you behind
to walk alone along the stair to the kitchen
and the dinner abandoned there
because of her promise.

You can pour love completely
into a wine glass body
Write heart wrenching verse
pure soul poetry
but when you are beat,
dead,
done,
exhausted
weary
the lover beside you
becomes dismantled
and arranged into parts
of burden
temporarily.
Pointy elbows drilling into spine.
Rock hard knees buckling thighs.
Razor sharp toenails
scour
ankles and calf.
Sprawled limbs
invading your bed half.
Thieves of warm sheets
and cosy duvets.
Gurgling,
snorting roars
snoring,
snoring,
snoring away.
Or teeth grinding
piercing anvil,
hammer and drum.
When extremely tired
Only then your love isn't as fun
as and hour ago
when limbs, torso and flanks
eagerly woven
discarding blankets,
But that was then.
Sleep has a stronger lure
and retorting with your own elbow
or *** shunt
just can't end the snore.
Crying for snoozeville,
you can't take any more.
Suddenly,
a choked snuffle
then blessed silence
as they roll back onto their side
And you sigh, “I love you,”
But grateful for the stop
Better off with bunk beds,
one can still go on top.

I just want to sleep
But I am thinking of you
Therefore I can't sleep

I drank once,
from the deep well of sleep
when cool waters refreshed this parched earth,
now barren without nourishing dreams.
My worries grow futile shoots
in the hardpack, they wither and die.
Ashes scattered dryly
fuel further frets.
This drought is not over.

Tired physically.
Tired emotionally.
Tired of *******.
Tired of money.
Tired of ****** drivers.
Tired of ****** people.
Tired of headaches.
Tired of back pains.
Tired of anxiety.
Tired of depression.
But most of all,
I'm just tired of being tired.

slow tiredness infiltrates my body
dulling the senses.
and dragging my limb downs
into the abyss

darkness surrounding me like a blanket
taking away my thoughts
numbing the feeling

it's a complete shutdown
the crown has fallen long ago
so this is no longer my town

just a ruined place
that lost the race
it couldn't keep up the pace

a place I dare not show my face

I don't react anymore-
I rather quell the hurt with silence
and somber smiles.
I just explain enough to move on.
What's the point in fighting
or hoping or longing
when it's met with more
questions and doubting
regardless of how true a feeling can be?
It does feel good to respond with open arms,
love and no alarms.
Even though every time I let my mind go,
there is a 100 ft sprint,
lodged behind my ankles.
I guess knowing that I'll probably
lose my breath at 50,
keeps me standing still for now.
I rather be remembered for
being strong-
than never sticking around too long.