Night Sweats

Lay there sinking, thinking under the surface of sodden anxieties. Recall you darkly the flickering hours, the tinctured years, as sweat-stained sheets leech. This room may be your last gasp, but you can’t tell, time distorts death as it does life. Come morning, the body (if it is still fitfully aware), may be rinsed by an untried light, an embalmed mind unwrapped as muggy dreams are moped away for one more uncertain day.