Curled into my covers, I think of tomorrow.
Visions are pinned to the plate of my mind.
They’re pinned like tacks on a meticulous corkboard,
Attentive to every thought, of every kind.  

I’m greeted by warm images of you
warm like a gentle autumn fire
and bright like the lamplight
shining through the cracks of my door.

I see sunsets
horizons
night skies
and coffee.
The steamed mug slides,
into my senses.

It nips my nose
my nerves
my neurons

Caresses the canopy
of my chambered conscience.

Making me aware,
assuring me,
of everything
eternal,
exotic,
and erratic. 

I’m dreaming of coffee
But why?
I was thinking of you.

I was thinking of everything we are bound to do.
I was thinking of sunsets,
horizons,
night skies
and coffee,
Oh, now I see where my mind has wandered to.

But I was thinking of you,
I swear I was.
Come back to me, visions,
come knock on my door,
but please, not literally,
‘Cause that’d be absurd.

Oh, mercy, now its twelve after four! 

Where has my time gone?
I went to bed at eight!
I crept into bed like a snake in a hole,
I swear I did.
I know I did.
Okay, I’m sure.

Curling my fingers and pulling my shirt-sleeves,
I closed my eyes tight and made my mind blank.

Blank like the clouded night sky,
with withered wisps of weary waves.

Waves like the ocean,
Sparkling,
and blue,
that keep turning,
endlessly,
back to the sea.

Back to the sea,
and onto the beaches.
Beaches filled with wide,
wide open,
plains.

Grass plains with stalks that fade into the horizon
but fading only after
thoroughly dancing with the wind.

Dancing like we did, Once Upon a Time,
Sprawling impossibly,
but devoted, all the same.

Spinning onward and onward,
entirely as planned,
as directed,
as arranged,
as assembled,
as aligned.

But who knew that the waltz,
would allow us to fall,
to fall deep,
deep down,
under it all.

Through all the layers,
of white lies
and black lies
and every color of lies
that lies in between.

We fell right through the layers,
the harsh layers of thin air,
like a meteor intruding
into Earth’s atmosphere.

We fell under this mess,
this mess of a life,
with death,
and divorce,
hopelessly cradled.
Cradled like an infant,
helpless and noisy.

I guess that
we did not fall,
necessarily under,
because that just refers to
a ridiculous plunder.

But instead,
beginning with a dance,
you have brought life,
to my life and my dreams.

In my dreams,
where sleep’s simply a coward,
hungry, but scared,
however, think
I have managed,
possibly,
a few hours.