I wake too soon
In the hazy dark
The almost dark
The shadowy muffled dark of a silent room in slumber
Before the proper fall of blackest night
And I wonder out loud whose hand holds mine
An incredulous sight
Stretched out there over a wrinkled cotton pillow dotted with faux flowers
The one I like to pretend is a warm body pulled close to mine
imbued with magical powers,
to stall the darkest dark
But now in this blurry eyed half dark,
two clenched hands I see
Fingers folded together neatly, over easy
Tingling warmth and the throb of heartbeats pulsing
through tightly pressed veins
I woke too soon
Car lights invading my window, to blame
I slip quickly back
Into the hazy dark
The almost dark
The shadowy muffled dark of a silent room in slumber
I close my eyes and fall back under the spell
Into the dream time
Where nights weren't dark at all, but full of the sublime
And both hands
weren't just mine...

Flying Angel © 2018
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