Embers; soft living things

As you drift into the realm of solitary dreams,
I hear from your lips, a mumbling, a murmur, so sweet,
it speaks its way into the tender morning,
A realm of softness, between sleep

the gentleness of pillows,
sculpted when holding,
our heavy heads as the weightless meadows,
of our dreams etches pathways, mumbling like ember,

Like footprints,
a blaze of light in each indistinct word,
Mutters dip, Into worldly things
when the night is unbearably still..

The sky, in our absence,
might’ve extinguished
the delicate dance of the stars,
Our delicate imperative; living things,

 mumbling and yawning,
Finding our way back to one another.
Soft pillows still moulded
From holding us, holding each other,

In the corner of a weary bed,
In a corner of a forgotten world,
Suspended, in sleep,
We dispense; softness

Yawns,
Murmurs
To keep things going,
To welcome in

the lightness
tomorrow morning
etches to bring
to us; embers; soft, living things.