You jump into my bed,
Your sandpaper face rubbing my neck,
Your warm breath moistening my hair,
Your rhythmic snores ringing in my eardrums.
Now I’m wide awake,
eyes fixed on that small, oval-shaped device
beside the table lamp, anticipating
the alarm to go off at any minute.
I will then whisper to the flicking blue light:
Alexa, stop!
It will stop, for it wakes up much faster
than both you and me. I will then roll around,
elbow and nudge and push you to roll around
so I can breathe into your neck, your hair, your eardrums.
And so
we lie still in bed on a Sunday morning
while Alexa is watching on, perhaps laughing at, us.
The sky is grey outside.
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