Dissolved Girl

My most modest mumblings began today on a cold, quiet morning hungover with a naked sleeplessness sighing between sheets.

Fragmented visions from the night before were casually strewn about the room, wholly unconsolidated by my dutiful dreaming maids. I'm trying to savor their memory. Trying to stay entwined.

Furrowed brow. Deep breath. Dirty Underwear. Dirt and skin under finger nails. The matching set of scratched skin is drinking coffee and telling me to sleep. We have time. Time enough for some superficial rest, when I could be looking at you instead?

All I want is a silly kiss. Pause.

From underneath the fray of tousled strands, a wary eye watched the movements about the room. Through matted golden curtains it swept and surveyed, only to hide again, undecided in the whiteness of the pillow.

Eyes close: I want to relive that blissful lull of a low, sonorous voice. Even words poured unaware of themselves from lips not far behind my ears. Soft sounds and stories. My face melted and faded from feeling. Loosened sense of self slipped backwards cradled in sound, sleep soon following. So nice.

There was more to this story, lost somewhere between my thighs and lips, underneath eyelids--oh so very heavy heavy heavy.