Nocturne

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I love kissing her frosty nipples with my soft lips. I love caressing them with my warm tongue. I love how they are pink like her lips... How they respond to my mouth.

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I haven't slept in weeks, but now, the room is dark and the sheets are cool. I feel safe in his arms, and as I fade into sleeping, I meditate on the way his stubble feels on my shoulder.

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She’s not even two yet, and her beauty is already crushing. Her golden curls, and the way she holds her teddy bear. I kiss her lightly on the forehead and shut the door.

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We each fall asleep in our armchairs. His head tilts forward and he begins to snore. It used to keep me up, but now I miss that raspy sawing. I really love that man.

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I always sleep naked. I hate it when my clothes bunch and tug while I sleep. The green glow from my alarm clock keeps me awake. I pull the covers over my head and pray for sleep.

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I climb in bed with my curlers in, ready to begin my deeply medicated slumber. Sixty-two years old and I still sleep with the light on. I can hear the young couple above me. I remember those days...
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Post Script
(Nocturne: 1. A painting of a night scene. 2. An instrumental composition of a pensive, dreamy mood, especially one for the piano.)
These snippets of prose each represent a portrait of the different tenants in an apartment building as they go to bed. In a myriad of different ways.

End