“The waking have one world in common;
sleepers have each a private world of [their] own.“ ~ Heraclitus
I've washed my hair in years, since. Changed names, wore gold And rubies too, half-believing you so hesitant, would never dare to jump through rings - without a fire. Ours was a trance like dance. Spellbound by lines of cipher And epistolic vows in rhyme writ large in lemon juice, bitter from the hot countries. Garlic never slew the vampire. Just keeping it at bay the soul rests easy. Until sleep. There are no amulets nor tri-fold spells can bar these visitations of the night. My solitary bed you indispose with restlessness Or wait for dreams to lull me stage by stage to torments. REM is for remembering. A play is cast. Processing characters round the board twisting sinews of the heart.
Out of the Drafts and into the light for Open Link Night