I lay wasted
atop satin sheets
while morning water
colors paint
tinted window curtains.
It’s cold in here
despite predictions
of Armageddon
by 12 PM,
I’m walking the maze
of dreams where
you won’t leave as promised,
if my soul chose this
my mind doesn’t know
the difference
blank canvas is a
color by number
and I already drew
outside the lines,
boundaries are for those
that need direction
and with all this space
between here, now
and then
I’m bound to escape
free to stay in
predictions,
beneath satin sheets
I lay wasted in
while morning watercolors paint
my window pain.
