In My Bed - poetry

[WickedCadrach]

In My Bed

The curtains are dead,
Cold ghostlight of blue morning burning through.
I may have died too.
Someone is in my bed
I know it. I know it, 
But I can't touch them.
Bed sheets crinkle and crack like frost
Under my fingertips, weak as they are.
I'm not breathing,
Not enough to consider myself alive,
Just enough to pray and wonder.
There was starlight in that bottle.
It must have spilled in the night. 
It's just glass now--just a mess now.
It's returning to reality, like me.
A woman frozen in night-mare, Sleeping Ariadne
Exiled on a queen-sized island,
One nostril weakly siphoning 
Air between mattress and pillow,
Sweat and the echo of touch 
Between magnolia and lavender 
And three weeks of sleep,
I will wake soon.
I always do.
Someone is in my bed,
And when my neck unbinds and my lungs heave,
I will face them. Smiling.