to sleep or whoever takes me to them

i meet you so often yet never remember your face. / sometimes i wonder if i’ve ever met you at all. /

when the shadows have begun their sprawl, / when they’ve flattened themselves in straight angles on rooftops, / when bars of light within have grown thin and frail, / and their death-sighs hit my wall, roadkill hymns at best, / is this when you come?

when midnight metronomy of last has long been forgotten, / when crunchings inside my pillowcase swell up my right ear then, / when silence starts to pool in the spaces amid plaster, / and the tear in the night sky’s perfume won’t mend with the staleness of evenings past, / is this when you come?

when listening to clouds drift has deafened me, / when all breath measurements remain miscounted and misunderstood, / when a sneeze across the house stifles a fly by my mouth, / and tear ducts sing in the wake of self-symphonies, / is this when you come?

when the face in the wall has stopped its writhing and taken to staring at me instead, / when table-corners soften under the edges of dark and my joints are numb to pain, / when I’m falling but not and my sheets catch me anyway, / is this when you come?

or perhaps you come when my eyes least expect it, / when they curl into themselves, / when they blink. /

perhaps you arrive sandwiched between forgettings.