Intuitional Inclincations

Insomnia buzzing like a swarm of honeybees,
prolonging- the melodic sweetness of sleep,
we speak dinosaur conversation over meager cups of steeping tea-
hold out bear claws where our little pinkies should be-
extended for the sake of grace or some attractive proximity-
to the ideals of our mother's, cookie bake cryptography.
As we link them with one another, I slip under sheet-
I am gold, I am rose, I am melted Jellybean,
I am summer, I am lover, I am your enrapture in a sea,
I am salt, I am halt, I am-just let live and let be-
And fitted together in the tiniest fragment of bone,
I was Huxley, I was Camus, but now I am just home.
And if it be for a moment, just one fleeting minute alone,
I would savor it no less-

fingertips smelling of tangerine peel,
it would be gone,
it would be gone,

But I would still know it had been real.