An imbrication of stares and blinks,
my nights have become a reverberation
of your whispers’ lilt.
As I swing back and forth
past my gossamer cloudland,
I envisage how it’d be like to float with
you through the hourglass of sand.
The demesne which I used to call mine
has now become your territory.
Trespass all you want, but shush,
you tread on my sleep.