Under the bedcovers
He woke me up again last night, tears streaming down his face. I snuggled up to him, kissing the sweet spots on his neck and cheeks navigating around the bristles. I pushed my thigh between his. Arms around him, trying to stay awake as he mumbled details about his dream. Then, this morning I awoke to him caressing his own body and moaning. He makes me laugh. Sometimes he even sings in his sleep. I have woken crying twice in the past week, trapped in nightmares that won't let me out. A scary breathless feeling. Suffocating, drowning. I once had a lover who would sleep-fuck. Yes, truly. It was fun to wake up to his gentle, erect nudges. His eyes open but blind with sleep. He'd wake up and furiously deny it, but my dirty sheets were proof.