tonight, as the droning city abjures defeated
to the subduing silence of nightfall screen,
dim the lights in your room to arcane movements of shadows.
then slowly denude you of irksome hefts of words
and thinly dispel the ado of stale voices
like immaculate ink absorbing scrawled paper.
does each pore of your skin seem to vibrate
its very own, self-decreed reality
as you leniently dangle your fingers in muted air?
and do you feel your breath yielding a remote cadency,
disjoined from the earthly pattern of hour hands?

so, as you lean your arms by the icy margins of your grimy sink,
in the tongue-tied reclusion of your drearily-lit bathroom,
relent the faint quivers of your eyelids
to the musing undulation of midnight hands.
do your cold feet resign enfeebled
to the depleting suction of the gritstone beneath them?
or could you swiftly dismiss all and abscond
to a separate, meandering existence,
like that very faint dash of water
dripping on the protruding vein
of your thin, drowsy wrist?
see?
we’re this close to it, dear.
this close.