"How did I think up my drawings and my ideas for painting? Well I'd come home to my Paris studio in Rue Blomet at night, I'd go to bed, and sometimes I hadn't any supper. I saw things, and I jotted them down in a notebook. I saw shapes on the ceiling..."-JM
The spoke and ballerinas from days wake have left my body tired.
I crave sleep and dreams so sweet.
My desire of endless want, has turned my lips red, and chapped from salty remnants of sweat and dirt I don't wish to wash.
At night the smell of the grass comes through my basement window,
Here I am to breath again.
Soft breaths cool my chest. My body weeps no more on this day.
Something went right, something feels good deep within.
I feel like I am on the bench at temple.
The man that sits next to me recites the dharma, and drifts off to sleep on his Sunday morning. I am the silent observer of this,
And I am the Sunday morning.
I am the slumber.
I am the embodiment of that.
Can you feel the embrace of this?
Questions aren't coming. I don't have any. The only perplexity is the imprint on the pillow.
Will the gravity of night's last kiss take hold, and fill me enough to be alone?
I unfurl.
I crave sleep and dreams so sweet.
My desire of endless want, has turned my lips red, and chapped from salty remnants of sweat and dirt I don't wish to wash.
At night the smell of the grass comes through my basement window,
Here I am to breath again.
Soft breaths cool my chest. My body weeps no more on this day.
Something went right, something feels good deep within.
I feel like I am on the bench at temple.
The man that sits next to me recites the dharma, and drifts off to sleep on his Sunday morning. I am the silent observer of this,
And I am the Sunday morning.
I am the slumber.
I am the embodiment of that.
Can you feel the embrace of this?
Questions aren't coming. I don't have any. The only perplexity is the imprint on the pillow.
Will the gravity of night's last kiss take hold, and fill me enough to be alone?
I unfurl.
1 comment:
Beautiful
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