Note.

The awakened sleeper.
The still body yet to bloom.
A hand grasping the air, a space cleared by light
where the mind is blank,
where the mind is safe, to slip and fall and set the lines of self. Across color creates, possessing the space for days to come, of sleeps to end.
Here, where the rays of light resemble in density the black.
Forming sound with new instruments attained, we speak the language of quest, the desire to conquer. Myself , is not.
Until the night inviting and jeweled again the lust of sleep will bring.
I thought he lied.