Soft is light not seen;
like warm lips felt on dry skin,
that has slept many hours
and has only had darkness for dreams...
Black swirls, waves, splashes of nothing.
Sow sound is quiet that you forget how time is lengthened.
O sweeping light,
how do you peek through my window so filmed by occurring conversion,
that if my finger were to tap, a flutter of dust would glitter the room.
So many conversions...:
"Who was he..."
"Where you happy..."
"How could I have known..."
My legs stay stiff as the slits of light linger on the ceiling;
watching me lay in this stained bed of quarrels, lust, sex, and love.
How can my head stay so still with all the many things going on inside.
Is this how thinking works?
Memories, questions, thoughts, random visions...not so random visions:
The way hair just sits on top of her eye lid before she wakes
and it flutters open calling my hand to remove it for her.
And then I watch for a moment as she smiles with eyes closed;
her thank you, and then my eyes closed satisfied.
My eyes are open now,
but it does not see the face it usually peers at
and the hand stays locked under my head confused.
I do not search though...for I know...
With all that just happened,
How can I make this just another day...