...Now, I call you Yesterday...

[guppyiii]

In the morning, unforetold, a visitor have I. Under lid and past lens, through tissue to the center, sitting statue-like in my lotus garden, the ghost of lover's past tickles me into waking. In the confused limbo between asleep and awake lilting whispers and dancing pictures fall on my face like the black tresses of Yesterday. Nostrils flair as that sweet scent I yearn for faintly registers as a memory; the smell I would sit and take in for long moments under gentle fingers and smooth legs, a knot of sleepers preparing for just that. In that moment I can see you. I can almost feel you, almost. A tear comes loose as I understand, eyes flutter on the verge of consciousness, and pearl-pink moon-flesh lifts into myst and shadow. I blink, and I greet the Sun. I introduce myself to every today while, in my heart, I still pine for Yesterday.

If something like that can have a title, I call this "Now, I call you Yesterday."
I'm spent.
-Guppy