A dream, a half-waking dream, of longing

Fatigued by sleep, wracked by nothing
Blissful feelings of blissful dreams
Slumbering in the dark and dressed
I feel wakeness tug at my side
Yet it feels more like a person
Actually more an apparition
Formed from static, greyness and atoms
With long flowing hair
Is it golden?
And a tender yet urgent touch
I turn to face my waker
But she is gone.

I wake, the dream is over
Yet the longing for sleep still remains
Waking and alone; it brings me pains.