Bed-Stained Sheets Remind Me of You

Bed-stained sheets -- menstruation that never occurs on time. Mattress pad shifting half off the side, I dream I am sleeping on a hill. Too small at night my right leg smacks your sleeping knee, my left the wall, loudly but you only mumble and drop your pillow. What is it like to will yourself too sleep? I've tried everything but voudoun blood sacrifices for the kind of thick dreamless rest you lie wrapped in, thick as felt. The noises of a house at night jar my breathing. I don't sleep. I don't sleep. I lie awake through jazz recordings and radio re-broadcasts and try to drown myself in peachish bubble-baths and old novels. What am I going to do without you here to remind me?