Pillow Talk

Looking down on roaring slumber
The fat snorer freed to dream
Rises and falls above himself
And cannot look away

Does it come at last to this?
Eighteen thousand days
And eighteen thousand nights
A mere gestation of decay

No call for panic or despair
Only bleak regret
At paunch and pillowed jowls
And spreading grey

As noisy breathing states the case
For its own continuation
Against the coming silence
Of the first uncounted day