Pacing the livingroom, possibly naked

It's 3 am
again
I hate that word... again
it feels so certain
so absolute

that I might never sleep... again
see?
that's why I hate it
and the way the walls feel to close together
as though they could be listening

slowly compressing the doorway to the bedroom
so that it would be impossible to pass through

that I might never climb between the soft warmth of those covers
again...

thick carpet is curling up between my toes
tickling the tired soles of my feet as I pace

again

passing through the hallway towards the kitchen
lurking shadows of appliances of which the tasks seem to escape me
the gleam of lights on their many polished surfaces

strolling through the living room
open window letting in the night breeze to kiss against the skin I have not covered

again

I cross paths with the coffee table
narrowly avoiding its sleek edges that interject into my nightly obstacle course so stealthily

pausing in the single bathroom to admire
if only briefly
reflected light across her shoulders
curve of her back
down towards her waist and toes

the color of eyes in darkness
the shape of her face and nose

how sweet
how dark, mysterious
quiet, brooding
thoughtful that girl seems to be

depending on the time of night
light from the moon across her face

we meet again

again..