Hello again, sun.
I have not bathed in the
cool peach glow of your early
yawn, your slow rise
in I-don't-know-how-long
I have spent the night in a sort
of half dream, draining blue light
from a four-cornered screen
and aching
for sleep
my fingernails are cracking
and You unfold for me like
her skin blooming under my
hands, and
I am still pushing my feet
harder into the blanket
(prodding for some
release, or sign of quiet)
the skin around my eyes is
itching; my back is
a bad metaphor
and I am powerless
to stop the choices
I have made
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