When I Listen

I've never once hated snoring--

or found the experience to be annoying
since the one I shared the room with
has always been with someone I liked sharing a room with
and the sound made by their breathing
was comforting to wake up to in the middle of a night,
especially after a bad dream.

Ricochet of bullets and the trumpets of war
become a lover's caress and a sound I adore,
a simple huff of air blows away the most frightening storms
and I snuggle up closer with my head on his chest,
eased by the fact he is well and alive
and still by my side.

The silence is what destroys me.

The distant ticking of a clock that I did not know we have,
passing the moments closer to an alarm,
passing the minutes closer to an end,
keeping time to the thoughts that keep buzzing in my head,
possibly the most nerve-wracking feeling of all,
just wanting to sleep and knowing you can't.

Then it's the chorus of the frogs croaking in summer,
the sound of the wind, dancing out in the snow,
the rustling of leaves along a paved street,
birds nestling in and calling for their love one to retreat
and come back home--

the snoring of a distinct lullaby that is known only by your heart and my mind

that finally
puts me to sleep.