Snooze. Stop.

Last night, I woke in backbend on a large cat. The northern hemisphere in the bowl of my breasts. The cat was me, and I was myself, too. You, you are the dream that turns our cerebrospinal fluid purple to blue, to black as sky. Every ridge top hair holding me erect, like bristlecone branches at first sense of smoke. You, you were the vision that fine-tuned our motor neurons to run, like a string, tightened for pitch. Each shaking stillness. You, you were the light-bending pulse under the earth that brought me closer to night-sky showers on the wild spine of a predator. You, you were my alarm to evacuate. You, you, you, you you you youyouyou

are how I start most mornings.

(Tracey Emin)