Insomnia

Creeping through the window, 
silent sheets of spun silk dreams
float into my mind, 
and envelop it warmly. 

A dream so sweet that I,
with desperation, 
wish it not to end. 

My unending dream is consciousness.
I wish it not to end. 
So when I lay my head
on my pillows at night. 
I don’t sleep. 
I think. 
And dream of waking moments.