Insomnia

Easing myself to sleep, but you won't
let me. You, siren who keeps calling me back, holding my wrist.
And I obey, letting hours pass,
too much wine, thinking

beside me is too far. And, yet, you remain clever,
too close to dream of me.

I ache, you dream, but only of indian summers and nighttime
when it's at its most aggressive, pressing down, the air growing crisp.
You dream, grow wistful, woozy,
as if the alcohol's in you, instead. You wouldn't recognize me,

not in your sleep.

You sleep soundly, and we grow further and further apart.
I watch the shadows, formed moonlight. No courage.
The sound of your breathing bears down.