Supine and enamored in cotton sheets.
Motionless, with vessels dilated at the time.

The filtered light makes it’s journey.
Warmed by the hour, warned by the noise.

A voiceless yawn, a reflex, and then stretch.
A conscious gasp followed by flaccidity.

Yet the day before, perpetuates
the morning after.

Evenings always seem to foretell
the prior hours of our working days.

If the day moves, without faults
we speak in a elated way.

When a hinderance appears
and untimely tragedy commits.

The liquid labor may be your vice
to secure then admit vulnerability.

Nothing more are the stumbles
that only gather footing
and stand against
the door opening

to traffic, streets garnered
with endless glows
within our restless minds
finding exits to resetting the past
and just returning home