when midnight dissapates

Midnight slips in silently between my
black cotton bed sheets
rousing me
like an erotic dream.

I'm sleeping in a new room again.
The first few nights are always the hardest...
sleep
slipping
in and out
like spontaneous lovers leaving
tainted fingerprints
on the walls.
Curtains drawn to the orange glow
of the streetlamps
as digital red
splashes across the floor
from the alarm clock
displaying 3am.

Images of
boys and girls
asserting time
in backroom closets
fill my imagination.
I roll over to face myself again.
I can feel the past of this room
tracing lines
of the present onto the palm of my hands.

 It's itchy.
I guess it always is when I shed.