though my bones are on fire
and my flesh is a numb puppet,
I still can't sleep-
the moon is out there,wicked and afloat,
hanging above my head
like a ghostly torch.
...so I make myself a dream,
since conjuring long-lost unconsciousness
is out of my reach:
a dream where I'm perfect and radiant
a dream where you come and slowly kiss
my forehead,my cheeks,my withering lips.
I'm in an armchair,dress falling
from my frame like a layer of lava
and crimson roses;
you're standing above me,a warm
backbone for that fabricated shelter;
I give up,you lean in,we exist.
and I don't want to let go of this image,
my camera focuses and gets stuck on repeat!
I want to feel something,anything,
even if it's sorrow and defeat!
my head turns out to be a foe
at the best inappropriate moment-what a treat!
underneath my damaged sheets,
I make myself a dream.