I cannot reach you. I keep moving through the sheets, first a turn, a toss, a roll, crawling now through a bleak cotton landscape. Where are you? The sheets, tent-like, are rough on my skin, I’m underneath — crawling, crawling, slithering snake-like. I can feel the bed is still warm and I follow your heat. I realize I don’t even know who you are. Do I? It’s too far, this bed desert. I cannot reach you.
