i couldn't wake him this morning. long limbs twisted in low thread counts. coffee stained. walked myself to work. alone instead. last night all i had were nightmares. something about a flood and your heart's palpitations. and he kept moaning. all night. about habanero pepper tongues and the weight and consequence of my nighttime hair. this is all fucked up. alice keeps shouting to the rabbit. as if he might listen. covered in polka dots and the howling face of the alarm clock ring. she holds his sleeping hand to her mouth and says the words without sound. when i can't go. anywhere but here without you. in this almost dark room. again.