VI. The Hunger for the Dream

Part of a poetry novella

I slip beneath the velvet veil
Before the stars begin to weep,
And chase the hush beyond the pale,
Where I am whole, and you, complete.

The hours stretch like silken thread,
I drink them deep, I beg for more,
For waking now feels cold, half-dead,
A shadow slumped beside the door.

The dream has grown too sweet to leave,
Its amber light, its softened glow,
And though I wake, I scarcely grieve
I live there now, or close below.