Absent time called sleep, gaps that release, things we wrestle with and sleepy, grubby, the sheets leaving hieroglyphics, your small, cold feet having feet dreams, and me with my mouth full of envy. You murmur, the sound of slow slip, and you're already forgetting, my hands there and going, gone, callous and friction, but I'll take this, don't you see, outside the low branches, the cold cracking soil, your mouth in the dark air. The dissolve. Hand to mouth. Mouth.