In the quiet, a long pause draws a thin line between surrendering to sleep, or waging war with your eyelids.
I swallowed a half-baked dream yesterday, a little too mushy for my tongue. The filling, too overwhelming the flavor reached the farthest strands of your hairs atop your head. It made some strands yellow, some strands blue, some strands white- a galaxy of possibilities, a constellation for some. How did our forefathers tell which star comes with which? Some stars would like to take part of the fish or of the ram.
On the floor, ants started slowly towards the bits of unmelted sugar.