From the moment morning's gentle haze
Pushes its way into the darkened depths
of me
I have no other conscious reckoning.
From the moment I turn my clouded head
And force open my cotton-hazed eyes,
I am damned if I may see,
Anything
But that which lies before me.
Time
Means
Nothing
and yet I know when night gives way
to day.
For then, dreams
are reality; joy and frivolity,
abound in my dancing heart,
beyond the calm of tender, nightly hours
that steal away my sleep
and spirit me up, in spirals,
through the twilight,
and the softest sunbeams,
into the rabbit-snare
of your dawn.
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