fallen verses

To anthropomorphize a bit, my muse is one sadistic bitch. All day yesterday, I’m just sitting around, plenty of paper, pens, keyboards, all just waiting for some spark of creativity that would not come. Then, after I’ve been laying in bed for a half-hour or so not able to sleep, the creativity fairy slaps me with her magic wand and “BAM!” I have an idea for a poem. Seriously, even one hour earlier, everything would have been a-ok. But, damn… I suppose, considering the subject matter, it probably would not have been thought of at any other time. Either way-

Sleeping Alone

I don’t know why,
but I preferred to sleep
with my back toward her,
let her softness curl around me
or like stone I would arc around her.
I like the feel of her breasts
or her back and the heat between us
did something I never could remember
from physics class.

Sometimes, I would wake up,
alarm clock glowing red,
and I would be balanced precariously,
like a gymnast,
or a tightrope walker,
on the edge of the bed;
her slender frame curled in its center.
When I would complain
in the morning
of her night-time atrocities
she would tell me to “just move” her,
but no matter how sleep-addled
my insomniac mind became,
I would never have done that,
never have woken her,
merely to reclaim territory.

Some nights I enjoy
the sort of sprawl possible
while unaccompanied in bed;
the endless possibilities
for position.
Other times I feel more
like Caesar:
straying even one inch
over the invisible border she upheld
has all the finality
of crossing the Rubicon.
I know her armies have quit the field,
and the bed is open for invasion,
yet I still feel the need
to watch my back.

I’m not sure I like the ending, so I may be back to re-write that.

As always, comments most welcome.