24. Sentinels
he falls asleep
to the scent of roses
& burnt hair
patterns on the floor,
ruby teardrops &
triangles,
he has been shaped,
mangled between
two conjoined minds
they watch him
like a silent film,
count fluttering eyelids,
await the dreamer’s
recollections,
blend into his breath…
Photo by Quinton Coetzee on Unsplash
Note: This is as far as I got with this one today, but I do feel it needs to be expanded upon. I’ll file it in my drafts for the future.
Thistle Thoughts 