Sleep

The soft drone of hibernation, the
machinery at rest,
echoes forever in my mind.
These are songs of silence,
that dance as neurosis in my mind.
We as Forms, in this void asleep,
our artifices stripped,
reveal in subtle innocence, and
confess.

The hum of his pure rest
drains the venom from his
angry tongue, and suddenly,
his skin pale and baby soft,
he draws his limbs in closer, and
unconscious, rubs maternal warmth
across a cold exterior, making a new nest.

With her composure undone
as she dreams, her perpetual smile
in incremental motion begins to lament,
while from her glossy lips
she tastes the clearness of
wordless, inexplicable tears for
a secret second, only one moment without sun.

And he with the petrified face of day
can't subdue his ecstasy as
his smile exults delicately across once immutable skin,
and his cheeks now pink, colored
like the sunsets back when he was eight,
when his dreams felt like today,
a fear, a love, a play.

So when I cease my sleeping, my dreaming,
then the interior will be my exterior one final time.
This time, Death, mostly I beg for one thing-
That I see an exquisite expression,
one which whispers, without a word.