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Calling

I'm going to sleep on a cicular bed of falling numbers.
Losing them with each laugh.
With each morning the sun meets your eyes....
(Can I meet your escape?)
Only enjoyable when my mind is brave enough to feel the edge of the diving board ricochet at its release
Or free enough to swim in the ocean of your fire.
Now I need your passions to be my blanket.
Enveloping me.
Protecting me from the unknown evil of night.
Your love,
My pillow.
Something I can lay my head on.
But somehow lost in the course of my dreaming.
The tossing and turning.
(Why do I replace you in the morning when I know you'll just fall again?)




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