the calendar tapered to my bed-frame hangs low and remains unused
Sleep is flitting, though I long for it to caress me
The dim glow of my monitor engulfs my jaw, the rim of my glasses,
they sulk from my face
Equally in wait of sleep to fall.
squinted eyes press tiredly into the back of my skull.
i drift inwardly.
Speaking verse in a noiseless enfoldment
with a pen never quite able to kiss the parchment of strewn-about paper.
Cupping the hollow of my cheek
and speaking sweet nothings to my own ear.
I am cloaked in the indenture of sweet lies
I shudder at the warmth of my own breath
sometimes forgetting to breathe.
I flinch at my moon-laden skin
not yet bathed in the tongue of the sun.
I laugh silently at the dryness of my mouth.
longing for the morning glow to take shelter in my room.
but it never does.
I couldnt possibly allow it to peel back my frail curtains
or sever the blackness that pierces the hull of this room.
It passes and i stare wearily.
For its lack of remittance.
I only wish to let you partake in my solemn remarks
to grasp a warmth unbeknownst of ruinous await.
But, like the sun
you soon shall pass.
basking idly until the moon strives to take your place.