I missed the pleasure of falling asleep. What I longed for, occurred. Unconsciousness made its leap into memory's restorative deep when I wasn't looking. My mind embraced the deep shade. The horses of slumber did not trot. They played. I missed the pleasure. I woke to the dog snoring, hours later as if slumber had never occurred, as if I were still waiting for the elevator and the world had never moved--- but the dog stirred, urged me outside. It was colder, but not very much colder. Death cannot see itself dying. It's the same with sleep, cute, whether it's shallow or deep. Sleep is never satisfied. A ride inside a ride seeking another ride, hoping not to wake--- the world not changing for anyone's sake--- except to improve sleep with sleep.
