Seas

I have a taste for the evening. I have indulgence for the dawn.

I need to exist inside dawn’s light. I need to give in to the presence of everything humble, boundlessly sincere and extraordinarily terrifying.

People complain about how dark it is in the mornings. But this is often the best time of my day, when the dawn peers gray and silent into my pale windows.

The little rosy / Tongue of Dawn / Interferes with our eyelashes.

To walk into my house is to walk into dawn, into color, into music, into perfume, into magic, into harmony.

Before midnight. After midnight. Again. / Again. Again. And, near dawn, again.

She watched dawn arrive in a burst of pink. In the fog the first little birds began to chirp sweetly, not yet frenzied. God was illuminating her body.

I never get to sleep until dawn, you see, and it’s been that way for a year now. I sit by the table in my armchair all night long and do nothing. I sit, not thinking about anything in particular, just like that; vague thoughts wander through my mind, and I let them flow as they please.

We talk like roomates / Bleeding night to dawn.

Yes, I am happy, the dawn never / burnt with more purity, I am / happy to give everything to you / and to go away / like a beggar.

I don’t see the dawn, I don’t sleep, I suffocate.

It’s still almost dawn. These hours are as vast as stretches of sky. It’s too much, time can’t find a way through. Time has stopped passing.