We plan an afternoon nap, a siesta, a little shut eye, just resting our eyes. We count the minutes, seek out the perfect combination of mattress and pillow, the goose down feather, the faux fur throw, consider chamomile, examine the mugs, get as far as tuning into our favorite show.
Then I look at you staring at the neon clock, only looking forward with anticipation, and I think that we have sheep and sheep to go before we drift off to sleep, as I fight the blue lights, and as in any unknown zzz’s, we may prefer to lose track of time, where we have each other’s endless ocean of brainwaves to explore, where we weather out the seasons with wonder, I seek out your cozy sofas, you stalk my love seats and the world will say it lost us. This will be our stolen sleep, your circadian rhythm my anesthetic ease, my soothing handhold your release, just dreaming of faraway locales.
And as for Goldilocks approach, the perfect rest is always just the right firmness for wearing bed marks on our frame, other ways than weighted blankets
to leave us refreshed, and we are gone, not away, not far, but where we want to be, still where we were, this gold stardust shining straight on who we are, and
We are fast asleep
Stacy Sweeney
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