-sleeping awake-
tears to milk spilt,
cupped palms clenched.
sadness returned to that
overflowed sweetness.
if there is joy,
there was, first, sadness.

like resting your fingers,
on the backspace key,
after writing a novel,
things come apart,
like they are made, frail.

tears, tears of debt,
go unidentified
amongst beads of reality
from the shower.
bitterness within sweetness.
bitterness, without sweetness.

tears, acid tears,
go straight to the heart.
puts away reality,
from which brought forth.

i raise my hands,
cupped.
i ask, to dream,
again.

For you.

_____________________