The green light of my new alarm clock
spreads, lapping at
the blackness of our room.
I am fidgeting, fluffing the pillow.
Sleep swims an elusive swell.
The lime-colored rays squirming from
those digital numbers
leech your cheeks, sagged with slumber.
You look sour,
painted that macabre green,
the lines of your face
blackened, carious.
Your arms drape like noodles
across your supine figure;
but for the hiss of breath,
an image of death.
I wish I’d opted for the red one.
Noodle arms. I like it.
You think weird thoughts when you’re so so tired and can’t sleep…