My toes curl softly around a spare bit of sheet.

Although I am almost asleep, I can feel the soft skin on my inner elbow resting above my head,
my bumpy knee a breath away from the wall.

I remember those nights when you thought I was asleep,
and you’d stand in the doorway and whisper goodnight.

My head turns a fraction of an inch, and I can smell your laundry detergent.

I remember falling asleep to the sound of the clothes dryer,
always tumbling tumbling tumbling into a sleepy lullaby.

But as I try to keep you here,
you slip miles away as my fingers gently touch the tips of dreamland.