Sinking in a cold white tub. Leaves, turn gold and fragile, like paper jewels they carpet my dreams. In mornings, the cold air, like the whisper of a bird, breathes through the window. The blanked-out circles of damp blue sky, empty places, tell me promises will be kept - day will seduce, caress and embrace. Moments when time stops and light reaches a cold hand in. I don’t want to sleep any more. Programmed, compelled to live by the sweet air of love. Only the sun can arrest me.