Horizontal

Everything feels so dry and coarse.
 
I just want a big swimming pool to skinny dip in and to lay on top of the water saturating my mind with stars.  For my brain to envelop the big black screen stretched as far as my eyes can see and tiny pinpoints of light to stab through little parts of dark thoughts, letting in tiny pricks of airiness that, when touched against the drifting skin of thoughts, make even the roots of me feel weightless.
 
If I lay on top of the water long enough, with my eyes open under a quiet star-filled sky, I can drift into another world.  If I lay on top of my mattress long enough, eyes open under darkened partitions concealing stacks of the nightswimming unconscious, I drift inward, into forcibly hushed and shadowed places that cannot be seen under light.