Sleep is coming in her own time.
Soon, but not right now.
I hear her footsteps in the courtyard
And smell her in the still air.
Sometimes my words fail me;
I can’t think, and my poetry sucks.
But keep trying, trying, trying
From my blanket-swaddled lair.
Preceded by gifts of yawns
Tearing up my eyes,
Filling them with dust and starlight
Beckoning to dreamlit vistas.
Fighting the unseen entity
Trying to tell myself that I don’t want to
Mind slagging into smooth film
And willpower saturates to crystals.
