Let The Silk Hammer Fall

Let the silk hammer fall.
Let pink flowers droop dead.
Like a drunken snail, my head nods
and calls for my soft bed.

The birdsong says morning.
My leaden brain thuds night.
Long liquid limbs slop over my chair.
Mind too tired to fight.

The room resonates and pulses,
in and out, like waves of slow breath.
Let smoke from the candle waltz upwards.
Let beautiful sleep be like death.

© Mark Sheeky. Permission is required for reproduction.