It itched.
Some incessant gnawing – in the silence –
Crawled over his skin under the blanket of night
In response he played a book on tape and filled his mind with steel wool sheep
In sleep she draped her lead cloak over him
Each time her warm breath tickled the hair on the back of his neck
He thought of warm moist soil pressed against his skin
And sleeping, he dreamt of rats
Running from control to cheese
No direction any better than the one before
And this sea of rodents
Carried him along
Till the wall before him dropped
And he heard the familiar melody of soft breathing
and thought of molded clay
Earth, touching his side
Wet and cold
He rolled away and tucked his head to the side
Alone against the edge of the bed
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