Sinking in purgatory between the
witching hour and the suns awakening.
I am not sorry for the wandering of my
soul, nor the slow enlightening of
the moon light across my ceiling.
My soul is a soul that shifts, restlessly
inside their minds, searching for my other.
Within seconds I am a moiety without a body in
between 5:22 and betwixt 6:56. After shifting
through Merlot wine bottles I collect the
sleep from my eyes, pour them into the hour
glass, and give cheers to the being sitting
behind the moon. Minutes burn and hours chase
the weariness away, heightening my awareness.
But still seeing blurred faces and feeling hands as I
sink into purgatory between and betwixt
the witching hour and the suns awakening.