Sleepwalking

The irony of my awareness, is the infinity of my consciousness
that I am trapped in a constant state of wakefulness.
Here, veiled within shadows, I am caressed by the intimacy of illusion.
The fleeting color of your kiss, the soft scent of its touch,
and the music of a voice which flows over me warm with memory.
as perception lies between the dream and the dreaming
that I am awake

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2011