the thief

A THOUGHT PASSES, fleetingly vivid at the edge of consciousness. The same thought passes again a few wing beats after, without consent, a thief at the peak of daylight. It keeps coming back, more urgently now. The gaps between them slowly dissolve like how cigarette smoke disintegrates into the atmosphere, like butter in warm bread. Thoughts reeling, converging into more than an abstract image, into a moment.

I think of you this way sometimes. In loops, circles to which I revolve. You moving from the edges to my very center. And I dream fully awake. That space in between conscious thoughts has never been the same since we have met.