Semiconscious

It's just you and me in this bed, groggy shadow. I've seen you!, you know, lurking in the sunlight after one too many mornings... cradling your liquid child, fighting to keep your puffed lips moist, making eye contact with the tiny pebbles in the sidewalk. You close your eyes to open your ears. How you listen to voices far away that you remember when they were in your ear — and who are you fooling, what you write is what you wish — and how you jump! At the first audible sign of movement in your direction, but you soon realized that it was only a leaf, scraping the grass.... so you look down again, pretending that your poor, tired body can't take much more of this unbearable, mundane teasing.

Was it you, then, whose hand reached out in the middle of my dreams, so full of writing? I couldn't see it, but I knew it was there, stroking something beautiful I couldn't even see in my dreams. Why she accepted you, I haven't the consciousness to figure out, but I suppose it's none of my business, as it never is.

I hope her skin was soft.

I admire you, shadow.

Your sweet touch plagues us all.