He conks out on the pillow
As typed pages fall to the floor.
Eyes shut, the man collects unbroken images
And turns off the bed lamp.
Far away, in the dark, she reads the day
On the led lighted cell phone and enters
Her daily parallel world of communion.
It has been dark decades of celibacy/restraint/abstinence and purdah.
The lamppost at the street corner sends shadows into the room.
Street dogs are quiet. A cicada still sends distant droning shrills.
She sets the alarm and puts away her phone.
Now the woman realizes there is another person opposite to her.
There is a sound of life five feet from her place on the bed.
The woman can count on this wheezing at meticulous intervals.
She feels odd not to do anything to quiet his croaky metronome.
Why doesn’t she joggle the man? Why doesn’t she leave him?
There are bounds between humans that go unanswered, though.
The woman needs his rough night sound:
It has become one of the few ties to bound them.
It means a chance of overcoming the hurt he has inflicted upon her.
Will it happen one day? Will he realize it?
He ignores it : his final strike.
The woman has lost her lust.