you never could get along with those nocturnal visitations
which try to lull your reason and make soft
reality

inside trappings of my broken sleep, the gallops of your petulance
gets traction in the volleys of your tirades                                      
and I wear your influence like a triple metaphor on ******
highly magnetic and so giving


(so, do I have to duck each time I wish to speak?)


the sun sets slowly, in defiance of the sky
and slyly seeps its blazing colour trail
evening birds come to roost inside my closing eyelids
and there, they wrestle throughout the night
jostling for a space they believe is theirs
they bite and peck in restless dispute
till they find rest in the niche above your dreams


on the vine, grows dusty pods -- cache of independence
and such cracks in the ceiling may prove useful
in the end


it's in your veins where your fractious genius lives --
the whispers of my wishes race along the highway of your blood
chase through your arteries
dart into the mind and back to the heart, where they hope to reside
but it gets a decorated invite card to kindly leave
but you don't see me feel it
(the tiniest embossed part upon the reverse is a modest
ilu)