Hypnagogia

In my Charles Dickens'. Between wakefulness and sleep, lucid in daydreams of hypnagogia. Of goddesses and ageless mascara worn beneath the skin of a flawless mime. Whispering to me in shadows of sleep. In dreams of homily and petite fleur.
With the essence of green tea teardrops. Emanating the mandarin red topaz rose and herbal scent of wellness. Cascading over waterfalls and cataracts in the abbey,
of peace where olive trees grow. In the sanctity of my mind's closure, as eternal sleep steals upon my composing.