This is my Blogproject. Sit down, stay awhile. Feed the fish, and read some art.
If you like what you see or have any questions or critiques, please let me know.
Yours, Truly.

Monday, January 3, 2011

Studies on Sleep

Tonight you elude me.
Forever your mysteries intrigue me.
I daydream (it's never enough):
You and I finally meet (the wait is excruciating) with no need for formalities.
You disarm me. Slowly.
We bathe, entwined in silence.
Only (my breath) filling the space between us.

- - -

The pilgrimage to your door is unpredictable and I, dressed for hunting, am sorely unprepared.
Like some mythical creature you stalk me, waiting to reveal yourself-- as always, at your leisure.
My fire burns low and red. The embers look like the insides of my eyelids, when the day rings harsh and you have left me.
I was never going to find you because you are never to be found.
And that, is the hardest part.
- - -

Touch me, I need it. I need you.
My body aches for your embrace.
It dwindles, slowly slumping into sporadic puddles of inappropriate emotion.
Wanting you more than any other basic need.
I can't think in straight lines, thoughts are singswoopjingleclomp-ing.
The face, whiskers askew, jeers at my plight.
Taunting, ticking, talking, tocking.
When will you arrive?
Touch me, I neeeeeeed it.

- - -

Postcard From My Mother:
Hello my Pumpkin.
I am trying the snail mail because you never answer my calls.
How is your sleep? You know it's so important!
Enjoy as much as you can.

Email To My Mother:
Hey Mommy,
Sleep is fine, it went on holiday for a bit, strangely at the same time I did. But has since returned and we are doing fine. I don't know what you're on about, I called you this past weekend. Remember we told you about our trip to Cartoon India and the flying carpet? And how I keep turning into a cat? And that doughnut sex tape?
Sometimes I think you don't care about my dreams.

Yours, Truly.

PS. Sleep says Hi to Daddy.

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