3:47 AM should not exist

Laying in bed with you,
my arm pinned under you
feels like the ball and chain
you have become.

Your body heat mixes with mine,
combines, reacts, and beads of sweat
precipitate like godforsaken dew.
The fan's trained on us
like a spotlight (the tabloid press
is already murmuring over us anyway)
but at this point it's just blowing
our own heat back in our faces.

I roll over, away from you,
pulling my arm from under
your head, and appreciate
the two full seconds of relief
before you roll over and rest your head
on my chest instead. Great, now I'm
a pillow, but then again I've always felt
like an inanimate object in your life.

Good God, you weigh on my chest
like a ten-year affair
and I haven't even done anything
but think outside your box.
The irony does not escape me
as I struggle to breathe
for two reasons
and you're both of them.

Tonight's just not a good night.
Maybe tomorrow will be better.
I twist around again,
my nightly prayer complete.