Incomplete.

Days are folding over night with the creases of a map,
traveling my sun to your window,
in a casual 'good morning.'

I wonder what you see when you stop dreaming.

I long to rest my head, but the heaviness of time
has set itself atop my crown,
burying its hands into my brow.

This length ahead of me is static and uncertain.
I'm less afraid of the distance and more afraid
of being forgotten, really.

There was once a time I was left by the back door,
wondering how I'd changed so nonchalantly. Being left
alone is only half of what happens when a love is jilted.
The rest moves silent and slow throughout your body,
until at last: you want to leave yourself for the same
reasons he made up.

Tonight my hands are open, not in attempts
to grasp something I know is not in front of me.
They're open, rather, just in patience...
waiting to see if you'll take them.
I'm waiting to see if you'll remember me.

The sky is a captor of all things released.
I have lived in its awning since I last knew comfort,
and now my feet are asking to touch the ground again.
They want to run closer to where you live and breathe,
gathering the soil where you once stood.

I'm afraid to leave the stars and the moon,
whose company has kept me so long.
This velvet cocoon is all I can feel with my lonely hands.
What happens when I run to where you are,
and find you still untouchable?

My darkness yawns in the small hours,
stretching its limbs to the edge of your waking moments.
Somewhere in the middle, our exposures collide
and create dusk over a timeless field.

Will you meet me there?

Today has folded over night entirely,
with the readiness of tomorrow sending my sun
from your sill in a boldly spoken 'good morning.'

I wonder who you see when you stop dreaming.

June 19th, 2009
(c) Novalyn Grace RRL

Now read the response: It's better anyways (:
http://www.poems-and-quotes.com/life/poems.php?id=1123841