Unvoid

Dogs sleep 
like old mens' hands feel,
somewhere on the brink
between life and death,
somewhere in the void. 

Unvoid...
where ghost framed 
silken images hang
like treasures to be worshiped.
Where antenna ears
filter beats from the now.
That ageless wonder,
that ever-existent instant that is now 

Cold black noses
tether teeth and lips,
and yet
the beast is not here,
not in skin or bone.
But again she breathes so softly -
gallivanting in that mind malleable realm,
the place where we've met
time and time again.
Sharing soft sweet kisses
painted with the sun.

Eyelids closed be beam inward,
where emotions speak images.
That ageless wonder,
that sweet dream taste.