There you are, floating man.
pale face against my window.
Are you standing on my bed or hanging from my ceiling?
You are facing my window, but are you peering out?
Your eyes seem closed.
My eyes are barely open.
You are wearing a red stripped shirt that pops off your pale skin.
Your wrinkles are deep. Everything about you is deep.
You seem like you are dead or dying.
It is the morning, and here you are.
just floating over my bed.
I don't know you, who are you?…
An illusion?
A dream?
A ghost?
I fall back asleep and dream about you.
I told myself you were nice and I happened upon a rare moment...
You didn't know I had woke.
You didn't know that I saw you hanging there.
You were just passing by and decided to bask in the morning rays of sun that burst through my window.
Unbeknownst to you, I was watching...
I was scared to open my eyes.
Are you still there?
Why the hell am I so calm?!?
I wake to find you feet from me and I decide to write a poem…