Thoughts on Time and Nightmares

edge of the bed
sheets are kicked off at the end
blankets tangled up
like lovers asleep

square of golden light and i should pull the curtain open
but i like the softness of the sunlight
through the cloth

even you, breathing warm into my hair
your fingers resting on my back
can't keep away the nightmares anymore.

all the conversations about time
-we're so fucking theoretical,
so comfortable in our geeky understanding of each other-
can't erase the fact that we are bound
by everyone's reality

there should be a door somewhere
under the pillows, maybe
or behind the painting of the virgin cowboy near the bed
that opens up and lets us in
to the place we were meant to be
floating

time sucks.
we should kill it.
living room words, tying shoes and finding sweaters
making sure the cat's been fed
you'd think, between the two of us
we might be able to figure out how.

and in the smallness
of this
in the pattern of each disconnected second falling into place time becomes
an ally, somehow
counting down until when
and putting lifetimes between the hurt and you
five in the morning
three hours
eight weeks
six months
trinumeral
and the times when time slows down, spins and freezes
those are ours.