Stillness.
A distant roar of traffic,
sliced with a siren.
Heated exhale of breath,
huffed with garlic fume,
against chilled pillow,
dented with incremental heaviness
of bowling ball roundness.
Soft eyes closed
as three holes open
of nostrils above mouth,
whisper in the calmness of
the refuelling night.
Releasing the day, to be
reformed as dreams to
confuse and conflict,
beneath the comforter of downy duvet.
Sniff to sough,
Snuffle to snore.
A snort is added to
millions more,
and up above
The Sandman flies
and sighs
at the soundtrack of his lot.
Another night,
the same cacophony,
caused by his sprinkles of
moon dust dreams.
Atishoo - cough - wheeze - snort - snore - sneeze
Thank the Universe for earplugs!
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