i would like to stay up and have limitless conversation

but my brain is not in it. it is in between pink sheets on blue pillows waiting

until the morning sun in my eyes and the dust in my eyes (and my clothes and my nose and under my fingernails) and the laughter shows in my eyes and it booms in my chest and rolls off my tongue and stretches my sides until i am not myself but part of something bigger

i want to stay up and wax fanatic about my new found love affair with comedy.

i want to stay up and place my hands on you in an incredibly sexual yet still reserved manner allowing me to assuage and ar-- but you are not here.

sleep is where i belong. she says an hour later. an hour of talking and bjork songs (which put me in that touchy-feely mood to begin with and if i were more awake would probably take me out of it).

i get what i want, you know. ultimately. sometimes i do not realise it right away, or do not accept the manner in which it is given to me. but my wishes seem to come true. the ones i really believe.