At night asleep
Alison’s dreams are scattered
across the bedroom wall
like grainy cine film
No sound from the
nocturnal soap opera,
just hum of Alison sleeping
against somnolent city rhythm
Amber streetlights
steal through red curtains,
waiting for insomnia cinema to begin
Alison’s legs up and apart
reminder, we touch like
skeletons in dusty museum
Lights! Camera! Action!
She dreams in and outside of breaths
Of ivory shoes on a bone suitcase
crashing planes
paper mouths kissing
fire stations burning
house on the moon
I recognise some places and faces
but in this dreamscape
blurred & disjointed
Of late, enter stage left
a handsome man
dressed as an artist
Alison gurgles
legs up and apart
I do not know him
it is not me.
I sleep during the day
but do not dream
Evening delivers cold twilight
along the High Road
sirens sing nursery rhymes for the damned
Behind a fridge magnet
couple framed
then another photograph
and another.
It is not me
She dreams in and outside of breaths
of bone shoes on an ivory suitcase
planes swimming
mouths kissing paper
fire stations flooded
moon in the house
T ndse ppea
th ndsom ma ppes
the h ndsome man a pears
I want to shake her awake
and demand who he is?
I can’t
I’m dead
She wouldn’t see this
ghost on our bed
It is not me
Insomnia cinema… paper mouths kissing… such poetic gold here… well penned
Many thanks. This started as a short story many moons ago.
It’s so haunting and beautiful. An exploration of longing and absence, capturing a ghostly presence observing a loved one’s dreams and life continue while he remains unseen, blending surreal imagery with intimacy and loss.
Thank you Roma. You have such an insatiable insight for poetic critique.