Vacant nights without compression of sleep,

crutch of irony, touchstone of motif,

climax in one’s own circular brainwash

undermining postdated peace of mind. 

Torrential spare time, wasted debating

the usefulness of unsparing debate,

sums with the cadence of vacillation:

stay with me stay with me leave me alone;

courteously allow that I must sleep

uncuddled by one who’s having trouble

uncuddling, who when I go take a leak

alerts the presumptive neighbors, shouting,

   “In your scant absence, I am loving you;

   love wakes!” through the cold plaster of my pique.