"How Did You Sleep?"

Some soft sweet spoken concern
echoes up the well of night
to find upon my ears
the day upon my eyes.
As in a field warmed as sun,
awakened, not to glare of light,
to cerulean sky.

As music is chocolate,
as thought is distraction,
as between senses and the moment
as life dances away

To know I will never love you more,
to know less than to feel,
feeling more honest than thought
and words less honest, still.
In this world
I can only give you words
that speak to the dreams you pull me from,
say I’m happier here
with your morning breath on my cheek,
and the thought more honest than the feeling
that I will love you more.

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