i trace the lines of unrest through jungles of eyes wide open dreams, hazy figures soaked in insanity. your eyes have dulled from the morning, and instead of sparkling with spider egg dewdrops they have grayed into the heavy clouds of an upcoming thunderstorm, my favorite; your lips taste of grogginess and are slaves to the passing of time as they sluggishly mold against mine. remorse stained ringlets cling to cheeks, lined with the plaid of creasing pillowcases. i could hide within your insomnia, the thick sheet that cloaks and weighs down a soft form granting mush words to granite cherub lips, thick and full and unable to grasp coherence. barely there words escape in mere whispers, streams of ice that disperse from perfect rose petal slabs, held shut by adherent fingers. fingertips against eyelids, i push them down so that eyelashes brush against cheekbones reminiscent to old baby dolls long forgotten in attics; and as sleep trickles down in your being like snowfall blanketting the earth, i revel in the beauty of an insomniac recovered. i'll wait once more till you relapse.