hands are fumbly
the tender aching wandering
taking rest between the shoulders
finishing journey near the temples
leaving messes in its wake
the sleep wants peace
she hides herself away
reads a brand new romance
dreams of pure solitude
a chance to pirouette for no one
but then, the cat
crying at the window
so happy with the darkness
and his freedom to creep
pronounces himself king
subjectivity breaker, that cat
so cleverly reminds me
that it is early yet for him
and creatures across the earth
are still hours away
from any chance at rest
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