conviction's caress

last night it recurred

the potential of 

this pain passing

you were there

at 3 a.m.
somewhere between my
cognizant cares and dreamy deliriums 

wearing warmly toned

prison orange

with a roughly honed  silence

sitting upon

an old and creaky pedestal

baring a placid peace 

from your private purging

i was far away

with this tattered, 

pale gown -

openly exposing

the messiness of my physical being

placating 

the purgatory of placidity

but somehow,

as things always were,

our rough imbalance

soothed me back to sleep -

a prison like cell

that freed

the bedridden parts

of my solidarity