Morning Risen, Mourning Call

morning has risen; my reflection is day's color as i lay still in the wetness of last night last night, the clock on the wall beat faster than my own heart as its hands moved slowly, like yours, but without touch, i arched my back, reaching, moving in and out of the shadows on the wall, making love to memories, or nothing at all. more winded than the air, i drifted off to sleep one last time, wearing the white of your lies, i was paler than the moon, and bled myself into morning to mock its rise, but it rose alone.