Pillowards

Falling  – slowly tumbling – through those hollow places in the lace of consciousness – an underived inexplicable luminesence – or the sense of promise in a dark, high vaulted door [that might permit a thin wedge of sky?] the mystery of an unplaned ancient floor – or the unsettling namelessness of sensations hovering in the interstitial vacancies along the ever-familiar [yet always strange] paths to sleep

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