Enveloped in cotton I fidget
revolving in my sheets,
stabs of light piercing the venetian blinds.
Bemused by last night’s journey home.
My core nauseous
from spent pleasure
from the night before.
I was there,
in full force.
Regaling unfamiliar ears
with the same stories.
The sun shifts it’s glow,
it’s shine a moody amber,
casting shadows under the awning.
The air grows cold and clear
while we exclaim novel raison d’êtres,
planning passionately dreams of a life possible,
our minds filled with ill informed hope.