The pill wakes you to orange sleep
In fetal positions of a sleep-dance.
Here you quickly freeze your eyes
That turn glacial waiting for a sun
To fashion their river to a down sea.
Grief turns icicles on the eyelashes
When phone comes near the stairs.
They really scintillate to a rising sun
After a night of stars moves away
From pointing to clenched fingers.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s