Inspired in part by @malmueca's tossing and turning city of dreams, asleep in the shadow of Murakami.
DAY SEVENTY-SEVEN (2015-6-24)
“In dreams you don’t need to make any distinctions between things. Not at all. Boundaries don’t exist. So in dreams there are hardly ever collisions. Even if there are, they don’t hurt. Reality is different. Reality bites. Reality, reality.”
― Haruki Murakami
on the couch, hands curled with the rigor of sleep,
where there are holes in the corners of the bed, here:
Murakami notes how in dreams, collisions do not wound,
but now, burdened with the bruises of stirring from memory,
I differ and blink into the burgeoning twilight on the skin
where the pummel of your touch has left ghosts
and the waking, its own scars,
as, Murakami, I will have you know,
I was healthy, walking, bones and flesh,
until sleep gave you back to me again.