17th Jan 2013 evening
Your protagonist is, as ever,
horrified at the thought.
Nothing worse, it seems,
than the slow climb,
from horizontal to vertical,
from lying down to standing up,
from darkness to light,
eyes shut, eyes open.
And headlines could be written!
Sonnets composed to the joy,
bliss, love!,
of being asleep.
But this morning,
your protagonist,
was worse off than before.
Transcending from sleep to wake,
was eclipsed, totally,
by not wanting to leave you.
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