Sometimes all we have
are dreams like aniseed
a strange moment
we can’t quite identify.
Or enjoy.
I breathe in stale air
sleep on sheets
rucked up beneath me
wake to lines imprinted
on slack skin.
I twist into them
sweet and bitter dreams
that go together
better than I sleep.
These are long nights.
Another bedtime,
slipping into darkness
or slipping away
who’s to know the difference
in the light of day.
r.l.w
Nice! I liked it. 🙂