My very own body electric

1.
Morning in crimson,
slow-seeming awkwardness:
awaking,
not to reality,
but
to a dream.

2.
I sleep in my bed
the way you leave it;
Feeling thinking your
presence in the
morning leftovers
of nightly starry
comforting warmth.
A comfortable place
for sense and
non sense.

3.
Murmur exiled
from the soul;
Working its way
through
neural networks
and blind faith. Down
sinuous
pathways known only
to the hand:
motions on a blank
page: from pen into ink.

4.
Back into eyes.
Purest form,
brought forth;
A poetry of place.
Should I sleep to wake?
Or take
my sleeping
slow?
Light.
A faintest gift
to eternity.

Published in Emerge Literary Journal