Poetry
Chasing Rabbits

I lay still, a toppled clay golem,
You sleep deep and animated
against 
my joyless insomnia.

Dreaming of chasing rabbits, maybe,
Or fleeing from plasticine demons
Through a darkened infirmary —

Though in my ego-mystical musings,
I could believe I put these tremors in you
This brooding traversed two skins, osmotic.
My frustration becomes your twisted wrist,
My worry becomes your bruxing,
I am fearful and so you shiver. 

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