Nostalgia
To speak to a snake from beneath your sheets–
This hissing, slithering, serpentine gaze;
The cadence of patience, your eyes it meets,
And sings to the days long lost in that haze.
It stands in your fears, and brushes these walls–
The soft and the silent, your self it shapes;
In seconds of stupor it sighs to your calls,
Resistance to hesitance, those sacred shades.
A shrine to shelter these sordid scales, see–
See this sense, the snake and its sympathy.
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