Eventide

Eventide, the time that weaves minds together,
creating the ambiance that the arms of Morpheus embalm,
carrying us both so close to the land of Winken, Blinkin and Nod.
The sun has departed, its flame receding to cinders,
folding our exhausted frames one by one into the down of the sofa.

I sit, leaning my head back onto the brocade beige cushion.
I sigh, and tilt my eyes in your direction
I see you situate yourself into the crook of the couch,
curling up like a house cat in the sun patch
cast by the bay window on the second story.
I see your caramel orbs curve into a sweet simper.
The smile which you beseech me with,
welcoming me, with an outstretched open door
of quilted fabrics.

Curious it seems,
that a mere humble two words beckon me.
Come here.
You catch hold of me as I nestle beneath your arms.
I am hemmed in, encircled in a tender binding embrace
I am enveloped in the soft down of the blanket
But rather than it generating heat,
it is you that radiates the clement warmth.

We are sewn together
as your arms construct
the most surreal psychiatric ward imaginable,
because my sanity has long forsaken me.
Crazy like a castaway
my fleeting fearful spirit
finds your island cove.

But once upon a time it was said
No man is an island.
Does that make you a mirage?
Does my mind become a trickster of illusions?
Does my heart give me false hope?
Who am I and what am I?
What am I called?
Where am I on this voyage?
Questions probe my core like a dissection specimen.
I have been on this raft for too many moons,
drifting among the white toothed terrors
of doubt, concern, worry and confusion.

The sharks of the deep haunt my calm sea swells of contentment,
and linger near my resting head.
You frighten them away
as you tether me to you,
pulling me close as you bury your face
into my hair, then rest your chin there.
You become a buoy,
keeping me from drifting, keeping me afloat.

I sneak a peek at your pallor
that is even more illuminated by the box.
A silk grin crosses your lips.  I smile.
Leaning back down, I feel the droning undertone of your heart,
imprinting in my ears.

In the darksome twilight,
the shadows of our silhouettes molds a woven tapestry
of a wish, a thought, and an answer.
I am left with one question
as you cradle my vulnerability to your chest.
What am I to you?

Slumber takes me from you,
and the Carcharhinus leucas continue to
crash over me in waves of riddles.