Motes Never Settle

Roll [once more] into sleep’s spindles
& those coils of dreams – of rapid eye
movement – of phases of oat moon in
your turned back eyes – roll with every
fade-in & out of your dreamt phantom
[let sleep be your muted counsel now I
am not asked]/ Pull that drag of duvet
back from my vacated space – as your
body rubs on my flaked flaws – risings/
See those particles after bed-making?
I will float high over your future lovers
& enter their sleep & be a disturbance/
I’ll sprinkle a truth [motes never settle]


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