She peels me. At this moment, I am passionless about anything but sleep.  Slumbering with an  O shaped mouth exhaling foul sounds of joyous content. Yawning bends in the back unracked, blissful. Tension marooned beneath a down comforter, lost in cashmere toe warmers. My head dizzies from a dawn swim and extra buttered French toast, I welcome the scent of a chlorine haircut that slow dances into  my nostrils, a  chloroform perfume. 

Hazel eyes half-masted vibrate slowly, soldiers surrendering. Oxygen is heavy deep, still damp clothes to be removed another time. Limbs slowly curl admitting zoned defeat. Under the skin humid voltage pulses persuading slumber.  A 400 hundred thread count whispers into the ear negotiating loafing and tire swing dreams.

My body denies this fantasyland bullshit . It mocks, adutlerizes, riot acts and punchlines me. Twisted in and wrenched up for no reason, minutes count off til I pretend to be functioning. Hands clutch my feather down kettle drums, crash cymbals and blasting secretarial typewriters. Mister Bang Bang clang click…. Click… click. Thighs twist I force the fantasy while transfixed on a open wardrobe that imprisons the demon monsters of my childhood. Nightmare strangers, chiaro oscuro villains lurch nearer, all pickpockets of tranquility. Beasts of disruption sulk against skins edge imbedded in a Frito Lay crust film of nacho disgust. Play my catch the message game,   Marathon runners bear broken self promises and arrive to dull guillotines eyelids teasing me with sarcastic  exhaustion. Mimicry of  blowjob succulence reveals viscous lonely loss. Faulty Jackass relaxation exercise pain stalks me keeps me taut, legs crazy dance pretzel and waltz. Give up with out a second look, do something, read write rerun. Re-experience defeat, re-experience victory…both keep you awake along with a spot in the corner that needs to be cleaned. I leave it dirty. I pray for flu in 45 point font. Resist adversarial competition and pill popping  realize it,  lie  it.. Monsters thrive in my closet begging for the fury of headboard banging, the perfect opportunity for a vulnerable sneak attack.

I clutch the clock that buzzes and mocks me in adjacent fifths min and hurl the ninety nine cent piece of crap smashing against a razorous ninety degree corner. Not one  monster killed,  not one casualty.

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