Lucid

You keep me awake in my sleep.
The dimensions of your eyes don’t add up,
and your eyes don’t speak my language
though the language they speak is universal.
We used to speak the words of the world;

I would listen to your eyelashes.
Butterflies were inferior to the blinking
of our heartbeats.

Now I get
eye tied and
tongue sores because
your almond eyes have turned bitter.

I’ve touched forbidden wings
and demanded insects use their legs when they trudge
through my slumber.

Awake!

I yearn for Spring
and to find solitude in death when
reproduction rings but
the remnant of your scent has sentenced my bed sterile.
Strands of your hair, still left on my pillow,
even as cocoons crackle,
the stretch of midnight’s hand is never satisfied.
As long as the cold of winter lingers on my sheets,
my dreams will not smell of Spring time.

Awake. Awakening. Awaken.




-SG