Thursday Morning Inspiration

The mini-blinds keep nothing out;

not sound, nor light, nor the tapping

foot of the waiting day. Black and white

bars slash themselves across the warmth

of bedding. There is the faint scent of gardenia

rising from the skin of my sleep addled lover,

whispering across my face; a soft music

playing at the edge of awareness,

and the luxury of muscles

stretching out from oblivion.

These are my only desires:

these sheets, this skin and hair,

this dusting of sunlight through

windows shuttered against the world;

the golden moments when Sleep abandons

its passengers on the shores of consciousness,

and all the day’s tiring moments begin

to clamor for attention, for that undivided,

unwavering scrutiny; a background static

that clouds my mind far worse

than my own apathy, clinging to the corners

of my brain like the whiskey-sleep

that still clogs my vision.

Oh, hell.