Sink in

Drunken light, the yellow of whiskey
sits heavy on my rye and emerald eyes.
soft hallway echos sink in,
resonating like harp chords my 206 bones.
The leather smells of lazy days and amber dust.
Drunken sun rays quietly spill into the room
and circle and sniff before spreading out on the rug
before me.
The dust get restless and flickers like sparks off a match head
each fleck losses its fight and returns to rest again on the rug.
I'm a couch blanket, I warm the cushions beneath me.
I sink into the epidermal molecules of what was once a great plains roamer.
we roam the lands of rooms that live, taking our imprints with us.
This is the hardest I've ever tried to melt.