Right side

If my back was to the wall, it never mattered. I still shivered, piling on the blankets and knowing the solution, knowing it was out of reach. In alternating seasons, curtains blew summer in like a green memory, the night's cool relief lulled me, a chorus harmonic in its six-legged dissonance, but never soothed the restlessness inside. Sleep, deep sleep, had been eluding me. I'd been getting in the wrong side of the bed for years, blaming it on the waking, never making up for all those lost dreams. My bed, unmade, is still the same, but here you are, arm about my middle, cradling a softness you crave-- and rough against my chin you whisper, sleep.