Alice down the rabbit hole; I am
indeed
flying through the sky upside down,
clinging to the fibrous clouds.
Almost Alice,
almost alive; I am.
Not a being of my own,
but part of you
when your shoulder brushes mine,
murmuring (I am).
As we lie
(here, and to ourselves)
I am Alice,
and you are surely the rabbit hole.
When I awake (normal again),
snowflakes stick to your eyelashes, eyebrows- that little bit you forgot to shave
-saying, I am, you are, and
we are alive.












Comments
--
Everyone feels a certain way for a reason, when you read a persons poem your glimpsing at their very soul.
(and I've recently reread Through the Looking Glass)
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