Night Stutters Poem by James McLain

I lay on top of the bed, quilt clenched tight
knuckled white paler in face, to wait.
I wait every nite, my nites run into a mile
measured backward into me.
I know I am the last inch, the best inch, the
inch that tastes the best.
I also know that by now, every inch of that
mile has been uncovered, to look while I
sleep.
I hear a voice, never the same, it paces my
sleep, slowing it down, then I leap...
Into one more day of stuttering in wait, it
takes my breath away, this wait, for the nite
to finish the last inch it's retreat...into.........
I would never harm it, it keeps me safe....