if troubled sleep was the source of all poetryall poetry was but destined to sleepshut all blinds down shut empty griefyou once told me how impossible it is to breatheconjugal love is such a beastso stay away I did from any resemblance to meetnever asking how or why a beast is a beastis it when eyes droop red and lactic acid does bleedin your veins no blood is left that you be a beast?conjugal love is wrist slitting poetry to pleadbut please let me sleepwith, not without you I can calmly breatheis it this what you recently revealedtroubled sleep is the source of more troubled sleep
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