'Do-you-want-a-hot-drink-before-bed?' I ask.
'Err, OK then', she says.
'Coffee?' I ask.
'Please,' she says.
And after the making of the last drink of the night,
and after the placing of the last drink of the night by her feet
she melts into a curl
enveloped in a blanket
of sleep.
Both the coffee
and I
go cold
in the
quiet
of writing
at 1:50am
on a sofa
with room only
for one curled sleeper
and one dozing sitter.