I lay on top of the bed, quilt clenched tight <br />knuckled white paler in face, to wait. <br />I wait every nite, my nites run into a mile <br />measured backward into me. <br />I know I am the last inch, the best inch, the <br />inch that tastes the best. <br />I also know that by now, every inch of that <br />mile has been uncovered, to look while I <br />sleep. <br />I hear a voice, never the same, it paces my <br />sleep, slowing it down, then I leap... <br />Into one more day of stuttering in wait, it <br />takes my breath away, this wait, for the nite <br />to finish the last inch it's retreat...into......... <br />I would never harm it, it keeps me safe....<br /><br />Is It Poetry<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/night-stutters/
