I open my eyes, lying on my side with
My elbow numb beneath me, and
Stare at a pale white hand, whose
Arm, a gentle weight,
Drapes comfortably over my ribs.
Her nails are metallic red, and long;
One is slightly chipped,
Perhaps by accident,
Perhaps by nervous gnawing.
I reach to gently stroke the third finger,
Ringless, but with slight indentation.
No response; the flesh feels cool.
I carefully roll over,
My hand running along smooth
Wrist, forearm, elbow, biceps,
Ending at shattered bone
With dry and empty blood vessels
Dangling long past hope of revival.
Sighing, I lay her arm aside,
Stretching slightly, before
Embracing another waking nightmare.