When I go to sleep
my potential is a cat -
slinking around the bedside,
black fur hidden by a black night
that always follows like a shadow.
It leaps soundlessly
but, expectedly onto my chest
finding comfort in the dip between my breasts
and settling in for the long hours
just above my heart.
And I can feel the pressing weight
of all I could be
skimming my surface,
tickling my skin,
teasing my insides,
crushing my heart.
I can not stir in my own bed.
You don't disturb a sleeping cat.