i missed the shaded tones
of all those you've held
to your sleeping breast.
i'm too small for the
conscience of time to
know any better i suppose;
to see that the consumption of
the curious, calm breath
of loved ones is a craft;
that those formed of love
are eternally in love
and not surpassed.
i will watch you sleep
inside silence's muted
source, vibrating,
and see that what
emanates from you
dwells in the best regions.
hoping that i
can approach you
in my own inartistic way,
reaching you in slumber
and feeling what the babe
feels when free,
and falling forever
into your best
dreams
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