Transcendental Prelude
7:40
And the empty scream of your alarm permeates
Our honeyed slumber.
Like counter-clockwork
You arise, dress, and lean over
The blushing bed,
That solitary ray of effervescent sun
Undulating through the gossamer —
Intrusive, yet solacing —
Haloing your solid silhouette.
Don’t go —
As if my thick-with-languor voice
Is more authoritative than that
Of your duties.
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As if this voice
Has ever stopped you from leaving,
Even when work leaves you unchained.
Swathed in feathers,
I abjure with eyes full of glitter.
Still, you go.
You must.
At least, you tell me you must.
I resign to the heaviness of the sand,
The bed’s warmth evanescing since you rose.
How long has it been —
This torturous routine?
How long does it last —
This transcendental prelude to
Forever?
