24: 40 Hours, February 10,2006, On The Edge Of Consciousness. Poem by Sam Morrow

In bold colors I can sense him near me
I wonder where he is and how he is
Whether he is at all
Whether he is, or isn't and I am imagining his existence
The faint scent acknowleging he's real lingers in my bedding, it brought the bold colors. So he is then.
Solved: the issues of whether I imagined him there on the edge of consciousness, his scent would not be there otherwise.

Why did I do that?
Something primal answers: you wanted him, and he wanted you.

but why?
it answers again: he seemed worthy.

Was he worthy?
silence.

Was it right?
Something divine answers: I have given you the sense to know that without my help. Did it feel right?
Silence.

* I have for the most part worked this out, I was revisiting the idea when it was written.