writing

CPAP Mistress

It’s cold in our bed. I climb in.

The machine is already on, no closeness tonight.

I plump up my pillow before settling my head.

I shouldn’t be sad, it keeps him alive.

It also allows me to sleep without enduring sounds of sawing logs.

But it’s on already and he’s not even here.

It’s how I know. Not tonight. Not most nights.

Why can’t it wait until we have said our good nights?

He climbs into bed and delivers a quick peck,

then turns off the light and slides on the mask.

Tethered to his side, no more cuddles,

no more romance, only a hand if I’m lucky.

Most nights, it is his back.

I turn to my side, a tear runs down.

No wonder my dreams take me to other worlds.

Perhaps those worlds are the reality, and this is just a dream?

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