Tea, sex and whiskey. The dog’s snores
as he runs through the field of my sleeplessness,
paws twitching over each blade of grass.
But even breathing
pulleys my head
from the pillow, my mind
wedged open with stars. The field, its moon a husk,
a tooth I run my tongue round
endlessly. Bordering a street
where night animals cross safely,
where a couple travels the sidewalk, hand in hand.
And my cheek, next to yours, slackens against
the pillowcase. What cures?