i’ve been accused now
by the abrupt
no kiss good night
the ensuing silence may be
construed as rest
or as fomentation.
too still, no easy patterns
of inhalations, no
gentle exhalations.
the clock measures time in
unslept minutes
awaiting judgement.
when the eruption occurs
i can think only of
future accountability.
i seem to have gotten it,
every bit of it,
wrong yet again.
no easy answers and now
i feel damned
either way.
we really are much too
old to live like this,
i sigh.
the sigh sets him off
anew, fuel to his
unspent fire.
sleep finally intrudes;
we can only say
so much.
Peace, people.
Praying for Eyebrowz 