.5am.

Faces, words, donkey laughter and I,
Someone's daughter, fail, frown at
the still dancing, and then
Moving, like a top, towards bed
But not sleep. I tap thoughts into
You but I don't know if you can hear
Me. One finger constantly strumming
Doubts that I cannot dream away, though
I try.

.Hope.

Like a thousand little hands
Waving
As a dream flutters by
I see
Pinpricks
Of Hope
Piercing
The velvet vacuum
of
The End.

My first word-doodle ever! Actually, I lied. This is not my first word-doodle ever. Not really. It was a poem until I stopped myself half-way.

.Sunglasses In Bed.

Grasshopper glances are not fair so early in the morning

When the footprints of my dreams have not yet faded.

My smile is still fresh,

My palms outstretched,

and I forget, again,

to wear sunglasses.

At night I say, 'You can stay here all day,

tangling your breath with mine. I promise you

coffee, gollywog black,

and arctic showers,

Just as long as you leave me

More broken lemon tree branches,

And don't mind if I wear

sunglasses in bed.'

.I Do.

As if there's a piano on your skin.

Fingers banging naughty notes
That shouldn't make sense.

But I do.

Stripes of bruises glow
Black on your thigh,
Eight kisses deep,
Each chased by a sigh.

The key to your smile changes, but your laughter is cheap;
its bitterness pounds off the glass ceiling.
When I point at
it, it thins
bubble-thick, and
POP!
I catch 22 mirrors on my tongue.

Tick, tock,
Tick, tock.
I count white lies to seduce sleep.
I don't want to dream.

But I do.