Lying unclothed.  Hot, humid night making me sticky and distracted.  The city warms and the stench of too many hot, humid, sticky people reeks from the asphalt.  I can hear, mopeds, talking, the clinking of glass.  Someone’s cellphone, miles away, ringing in my ear like a mosquito.  I can see, on the ceiling, the blinking light of the smoke detector.  It mocks me red.

Lying in the dark I am crawling out of my skin.  I need to be cool.  But the fan irritates me.  Every hair on my body bristles with the cool breeze.  I need to eat.  But the food sits next to the tempting blue pills.  Promising oblivious, medicated nights and groggy wasted mornings.

Rolling and rocking in the dark, trying to be still next to his sleeping form, but inside I feel nails.  Sharp clawing, pulling, raking against my insides.  Scratching through my stomach.  Yanking at my breasts.  My whole body is twisting itself, exorcist-like, around inside my skin.  

Lying in the dark, holding onto his grunt of recognition, the sound of him groaning as he pads, through the dark.  His arm heavy, thrown carelessly over my stomach. His hot palm pressed to my thigh.  His smell overwhelms, covers the city.  His breath is warm kisses over my ear.  Turn my head and it is dank and hot against my forehead.  The soft, absent-minded caress of his thumb, back and forth.

Lying in the dark.  Here is perfect.  Oh!  Here is comfort.  Here is where I long to dwell.

Please.  Please, let sleep come.