turned into dreams of their own
And tossing half-conscious between
warm morning sheets
shrouded in cold, winter morning light
Lost in the poltergeists of a night
wrought in polished silver shackles
felt so soothing and inviting
in those dreams I thought I had
This strange oneiristic obsession with
fading light,
sunsets and flickering candles
shelters crumbling overhead
& old friends I thought I had lost
Cradling their aphotic forms, slipping
through arms like prison window bars
I knew, I knew, I knew I knew them then
because the way people are in your
dreams
are the way they really are,
Stripped of the facade of cold winter-
morning light, their bodies just
impressions of an unconscious mind,
editing its hallucinations
of
superfluities.
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