Respite From A Stiffened Veil

by Shaun Terry

And now I face the music.
Tingles radiate from the giant toad expanding and contracting in my chest.
Its deep percussive rhythm echoes in my skull.
I hurry my steps in fear that,
As each nerve-grating moment races by,
I may shrivel away from this confrontation.
I turn the doorknob, and time dissolves.
Each milisecond is an excruciating epoch.
The doorknob screeches, the whine of the door shakes this edifice.
A hurricane gale sucks me into the room
As I tip-toe toward the nearly-invisible mattress.
Quickly, I pray to someone or something,
Hoping that she doesn’t stir to consciousness.
She lay motionless, mouth agape,
With skin soft enough to envelop me in.
And I collapse to the floor, next to her,
Whom I love so dearly.
I’ll sleep by you now.

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