When I go to sleep

my potential is a cat -

slinking around the bedside,

black fur hidden by a black night

that always follows like a shadow.

It leaps soundlessly

but, expectedly onto my chest

finding comfort in the dip between my breasts

and settling in for the long hours

just above my heart.

And I can feel the pressing weight

of all I could be

skimming my surface,

tickling my skin,

teasing my insides,

crushing my heart.

I can not stir in my own bed.

You don't disturb a sleeping cat.