Nightly Affair.

Dreams are my mistress.

I cheat nightly. Like clockwork, I break with Day at dusk. She turns gloomy, fades dark, then disappears over the horizon to lead her solar life in a bright sphere, far from me. Our lifestyle suits us — she pursues other interests; I am free to frolic in my frontiers.

As my eyeballs ping across lowered lids, I begin my affair by grabbing the thick rope nailed to my sill and I hurl into ink-black void. My feet flail over this morning’s missteps as my distended torso twists toward buried memories, resurrecting to yank my ankles.

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