sleep processional
e.bojnowski

How does sugar melt?
Too soon ,
too late.
Your hands were like chicken wire
and mine like
two naked abalones.
And when sleep crawled beneath your chin,
Did you swat the moon away with your cap
(while I wished for a voice to crawl into my pillowcase
and tell me things)?
or did you pass through tunnels
flawless,
with every coyote call;
did daylight leave you gawking like a gutted squid?
Sometimes the smirks follow shadows sanely,
and sometimes I forget my place.