As I lie on the age old bed drowning in darkness
I feel I need to grasp a whole lot of the air.
Breeze is trespassing pushing the curtain
Bringing the yellowed halogened spring
Evening & splashing it on the chiaroscuro wall.
This is not the autumn I look for this’s ‘nother spring.
As I drifted into my own world created
By the errand thoughts & tiredness of the day
I can see you, my obscured unknown lady.
Are you an angel or the driftwood I need now?
Are you real or is it just my some made up