Unisom

Sleep talks

whispers

to you

how much it misses

how lonely

it’s been

in the black caves.

It wants

to grab,

spin you around

shyly

like a palm

to stick its tongue

into

your ear

jam up

from behind

fill your abdomen

with warm

milk.

But it can only whisper

from the corners,

it can

never reach.

Across the hall

sits

the dead god

the pig god

of the cabinet

and in bed

there is only

the collapse

of a childhood

and everything muffled

like underwater

but gentle.