Great sex, Exhaustion, and Writers Block

Last night I managed to break you.
Twenty minutes later,
I did it again.

By morning,
you were ready for round three.
All I wanted to do
was sleep.

I guess it just goes to show,
this clock isn't what it used to be.
Time stopped between eighteen and twenty nine,
now twelve hour days
are hard.

I drive to work like a zombie,
I don't always remember the trip.
Sometimes this is when poetry happens.
I don't pretend to understand.

Great sex, exhaustion, and writers block;
I don't know about this combination,

but I ride the waves
just as I do the day,

as easily as I can.