It’s late; very late
Poem
- Nichelle, 1993
It’s late; very late
But I can’t sleep
I lay with my hair
Sprawled overhead
My eyes are fixed upon Nothing
My lips are pulsating from Intrigue
Have I been romanced by The stone?
I feel like a young school girl
Why am I now dreaming?
Why am I now fantasizing?
Why are these feelings back?
Where did they come from?
Who said they could come back?
They were dead ~ but now
They are alive
I am alive