Warm as I wake,
Still clothed
In the arithmetic
Of dreams;
A few sentiments
Found
Like gold flecks
In the pan,
Tangible and inert
To oxidising approach
Of the fast and probable day.
Yet there they are,
Untarnished evidence
Of my mind’s wandering,
Its sinuous, filamentous
Questioning
In to that untapped,
That mystical
And incorporeal.
© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015
distilledvoice 
The words you use here are exactly right!♡
LikeLike
Thanks Candice. That means a lot coming from such a talent, as you are.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Right back at you my lovely friend♡
LikeLiked by 1 person
Beautiful! I love poetry
LikeLike
thanks very much
LikeLike