its blue.
and you didn't even recognize the color scheme
when it came flooding through your window
with the early morning fog
to echo in your dream
and extinguish it softly
in a single strand of smoke
rising slowly from your tired lips.

its blue
to compliment the surreality that you sleep with
some nights, manifesting itself into simple,
sinful grains of sand that slip softly
through your fingers
like the hours in a day
that shift with the motion of this
upward distance that you always wished you had traveled.

its sand
and it rises to collide sleepily with the perfectly
geometric waves of horizontal blue
wrinkling and folding the honesty
of some bed sheets
and the inches of
subconcious suggestion
between always and the unexpected.