the both sleepless, aslant, beds apart with limbs spread wide,
grasping at midnight, when thoughts drum anxious and dreams recede to the suave voice of despair, which whispers dissatisfactions, regrets, failures and disappointment in imprecations for the foibles, the narcissism and the selfishness that waxes with solitude,
in the turbid, whirring hollow of a neighbouring pillow,
consuming as bodies writhe, as clocks turn, as you flinch from the dim lucence of deliverance that glisters above,
where crowds gaze and shrug, hypnotised by the tide that climbs,
ever faster,
to submerge each floor perched purchase, each saturnine sculpture, whilst you blench and tense and remain, abandoned though not drowned,
afloat with life unlived
...