As I lie in my black room,
their voices move in the shadows
from side to side by my ears,
and I stare into the void.

I can smell the giggles of women
outside of this sterile darkness
which creates a tingle in my fingers;
and the scent of my coma fades.

Reaching to touch the ebony
plaster I taste a fresh wishing well;
the clinking of tossed change
dissolves the walls I face.

Seeing trees of orange and green
with dizzy, darkened bark dancing
to the rhythm of clicking clock
hands of branches they leave.

Silhouettes of pink wings
flying in a dry, yellow dream
spreading through a blue day
float away with their feathers.

The laughter and light
of an amorphous love
shapes the round aurora
that their sound and shine
pour Into me.