18 

in an abstract lullaby, a
bed in slumbering
moonlite, eyes blast
open in panic from
a 3 AM (awakening,
the #’s are a blurrrr)
wakeup (dis-
tress) call
NO OXYGEN

a quick scan reveals
the brown-skinned
forearm of your lover
pressed ‘gainst your
trachea, a former
mixed-martial arts
fighter practicing her
headlock in a bout
of sleepwrestling.

ehhhhhhhhhhhh oh,
the struggle, the force of
a battle in dream

clawing air & muttering
you finally pin down
her shoulders and deliver
armistice kisses