Overnight I’m no longer used to scratching out the night through the switch and click of a mouse, instructing the closure of a curtain-less window; or biding farewell to a candle bulb sheathed in its leather binding.  I wear your skin of blue pyjamas, bed down on a sofa; let the lights burn until the sun steals their thunder. In a dawn raid, you tut each light out then kiss my restless forehead; reminding me why I never sleep alone. Sonia Hendy-Isaac If you have any comments on this poem, Sonia Hendy-Isaac would like to hear from you.