It was as dark and warm
as the womb
when i stepped in from the cold chill
of my cigarette.

Movies and images
flashed on endlessly
in the abyss
of the darkened room.

I knew better than most
that soon sleep
and dreams
would set in refreshing
and familiar
as the face of a mother
to a wounded child.

I could see these patterns
repeated behaviors
forming themselves in the dark
and so I too
lay down my weary head
and my heavy bones
and slipped oil like
into the rough embrace of the sheets
and the unknown
and the loved
and the eternally forgotten world of dreams.