Tossing and Turning

two in the morning
is a terrible time to think –
each second of the clock torments me;
the silence between each
tick s t r e t c h e s
into infinity –
the
jackhammer
of each
mechanized
movement assaults me with near-deadly
force.

a slight displacement
in the darkness and
she accommodates my new
position –
her lithe
naked form
pressed firmly against me
my body reacts with
predictable response

I count the infinite seconds until her
breathing
returns to normal
waiting
thinking
not prepared for the
intensity of her closeness –
not worthy of it.

my torment completely
consumes –
a scarred and broken
man – Quasimodo –
lying next to an
earthly angel
knowing that each
second
is a gift and trying
to live a lifetime
in each
tick of the
clock.

(c) Ron Sparks 12/30/07

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