unfinished

in my sleep
i read reams of shakespeare.
and when i woke,
i was sleeping next to my books
curled around your lifeless figure.
my dante gabriel rossetti
lover-painter.
ate thinly buttered toast
over a morning of friesas
(the scent of heaven)
and reconciliation
profferation
that stunned with few words.
walked the empty miles
when it was done
to a place of work
that took my smile
and my ability to hurt.
i've lowered my hopes...
all i want
is to feel the sun.