Myopia

Different tenors beckon me, each
day when I languish from my sheets.
Following a tone that I might part, from
a dream which I clutch tightly.
Reflections where we watch, our
trodden minds dancing into slumber.
Sound reasons that we, find
our shape with the light of day.
Propping up a wedge I know, there
are many tasks… neigh, obligations.
Gripping the twisted metal, I
try and remember the last I thirsted.

But why do I linger on, my
tingling myopic concerns.
Why not just leave them, to
grace one another in comatose.
Relieving my sense of a time, when
I could say I had found.
I had found her, this
I knew for certain.
With a glance and tousle, now
she slipped into the cold anemia.

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