That Line
Our nights are different in their packaging
Yours is a dim lamp throwing a golden sheen over your resting limbs
Mine, a cold trickle
flowing through crumpled bed sheets
A flashback of a hard life
lies uneasily with a morbid rehearsal of death
and the night rests between their noises
They touch briefly just before we dream
The Sleeping Couple -- Odd Nerdrum 
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