Afternoon Slumber
I feel it coming on
So slowly, at first,
Then it's here,
And it's very, very heavy.
Undeniable.
I've lived long enough
To know not to fight it,
Which makes it worse,
For much longer,
Than if I had just given in.
It's not an illness after all,
Nor a disease or disorder.
I'm only being asked,
By me, of all people,
To skim the surface of sleep.
Like the urge to drag a few fingers
In the water from the side of a boat.
A solitary experience,
Neither painful nor entirely pointless.
Once done, and only once done,
Something private is satisfied,
And you're finally free to move on.
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