Four Posies sweat the morning, and they draped across the bed with swirling grey stitches
and you.
And you,
with draped covers, pulled so closely the night before. Then as you basted with your tossing dreams, they became unraveled, slowly and stupidly in a fit of effect and cause, like momentum, like a chair tossed against a wall in anger. The wall still stands and the chair no longer sits but lays abandoned on the floor
in the night.
In the night
where you first thought these thoughts, and fought the covers in a not-quite epic struggle, with the abandoned sheets and the bed and you, and
four posies.
Four posies
you hadn't noticed the night before, now they slowly glisten in the sunlight which emerges victorious from its battle with the mini-blinds, that's what life is, mini-blinds that always jam, a constant battle, a struggle that will never end. The only peace you have come to is ironically with this battle.
apathy.
Apathy
and you notice the pattern that morning is always conquered by night. Every night is finally brought to death by the morning, and at night, stars glisten like glitter in the sky, and in the morning, deep shadows recede their way into the corners, and everything sits in a yin-yang balance. If you diagram it you would probably make the circle of light within the darkness much smaller because even with the contrast it is hard to see any sort of light in the black of
nothingness.
Nothingness
with the sun rising and pouring its way through stripes of blinds, blinding your epiphany of morning with a cacophony of colors in your head that are swirling in a pattern meaningless to you, like a piece of art that you can not bare to look at because it hurts your brain to think in that sort of a color, and you know it is beautiful even for the very fact that you cannot look at
it.
It
takes about fifteen seconds for your eyes to adjust into a squinting headache of perception. Perhaps another fifteen until you start to look around. Everything starts to click into place like Linkin Logs and you start to look
Around.
Around
are four posies. A pocket full of posies The four posies which glisten in the sun warm reality before you. The four posies which I have left for you.
Guys like monkeys.
I want a monkey.
And as your eyes awaken, you understand that it isn't about the night or day or the protection of your covers or even about the posies, but it is about me and you and the moments we will spend together in a lingering daylight which will still stretch itself before us like a cat on a hot tin roof. | 
