The night wears late

with cataclysmic debate.

Set fire from an ember,

lit long before eight.

 

Our molehills worn flat,

Meandering, this point to that.

It's vendetta based pinball (2 players!).

Another soul searching spat.

 

But then we arrive, at last to scene 5:

the finale as you take off to bed.

So exit stage left. Big finish? “Drop dead!”

The audience left scratching their head.

 

So I flick through the channels (aggressively!),

for maybe an hour or more.

Then I make my way up the stairs,

avoiding the creaks in the floor.

 

I forego the light to avoid a fight,

as I pray you’ve fallen asleep.

But you’re breathing lite,

And sheet tension’s tight,

This is will, not counting sheep!

 

I can feel your every movement,

your shuffle that echoes through springs.

Perhaps I should turn over?

Or just see what tomorrow brings.

 

Then you shift your feet.

(To which my Judas heart skips its beat!)

And I hope that you’re coming this way.

So I glance over my arm,

but it's a false alarm.

and It looks like on that side you’ll stay.

 

This fight could go all night, as your vibrations flow and ebb.

Sleeping is now impossible, on this bed like a spider web.