Gaps
A dark tactile sensation
A caress of the night on my skin
My environment speaks to me
Warms my blood
Wakes my mind
To the exchanging fluxes
Of which I'm
Part.
A rhythmic smell of sleepfulness
Lingers in my ears
A beating liquid of oxygen
That closes me in onto myself.
These gaps between my percepts
And the concepts that denote them
Reverse the flow of my time
And bloom me off into
My interiority
Like a closing hand
Whose fingers and petals
In a continuous stroke
Crush the world
Into a sap of creativity.
