Midnight

She dreamed a storm

rising from his sleeping face

with only the comfort of plastic lies

to rest her head upon

 

As peaceful as the buried dead

she thought momentarily

wishing for a widow's veil

if only to change her view

 

Frustration turns bitter

in the middle of the night

when you are left to count

the twitches of a sleeping dog's eye

 

When he wakes

to the thunder of her sigh

he will shiver under her

unshakable cold

 

The night will take

whatever we let it

and some things

we didn't know we had