Trip

The thread of words
Those silken threads
And velvety spread
Drunk on the darkness
On the silence it envelopes
And the sweetness that slips behind the throat
The faint smell of wet soil
The feel of cold leaves
What sweet lies those are
The touch of moist warmth
And the lies of it
The dream they have woven
Like moving through velvet curtains
Sliding down a rabbit hole
Warmth of the breath touching my skin
Slowing it all down
To match the pulse
To fall motionless
To drown down
The brown patterns of coffee cup.