When the sun hits the melon curtains
and a sliver of light hits the eyes,
feet touch the floor to a busy day,
peel off the sleep, put on the disguise.

Like a film roll, the slow day unveils,
marshmallow mornings, tangerine blues.
Beneath all, a wait for the darkness,
when the facade may stop chasing you.

A tea party for three A.M. thoughts,
commences ‘neath the lamp by the bed.
They let you reveal your true colours,
and so you let them haunt you instead.

They haunt you slowly, like shadows creep
onto the wall as the night drags on,
but you know that without them you would
be a fragment of what you’ve become.

When the sun hits the melon curtains
and a sliver of light hits the eyes,
Feet touch the floor to a busy day,
Peel off the sleep, put on the disguise.