Dusk

Strewn across the azure in smoky wreaths,
The crimson clouds tremble and glide,
In a barely perceptible breeze.

Breathing inside the self-created grave,
Buried longings utter their sporadic screams,
Clamouring to be disinterred.

At last,
The somnolent sun winks at me.
Illuminating the crevasse of my being.
Before plunging in the west,
To sleep.