Tipping and tired, I crawl under the blanket
to rest my head.
Ahhhhh, the dreamy down and fleece, comfort
for the walking dead.
But then, begins the clanking nasal chorus,
spits and sputters I dread.
Otherworldly noise that fills the room,
far beyond the bed.
How can a nose so small, create a sound
so large and red?
You instructed me to pinch the reprobate,
to stop the nasal thread.
In desperation, I reach over to softly squeeze
the culprit as I’ve
Three seconds of peace, before the deprived lungs
force themselves to spread.
Your mouth flies open, like a baby bird,
demanding to be fed.
Who knew the throat would produce a noise
akin to someone being bled!
Let this be a scripted testament in the morning
as to why I fled,
to the spare bedroom.