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Beside Our Bed
by Ray Fuller

I always want my love to please, 
But woe betide me if I sneeze 
When she’s asleep. 
When I cannot keep 
From release, 
And fail to cease 
That stentorian venting, 
No chance of preventing. 
Not once, not twice, not thrice, yet more 
That shake the person to the core. 
This thought then passes through my head: 
Just one more sneeze and I am dead. 
Which is why you won’t find any knives lying around  
Beside our bed.