What have you done?

Have you been toying with my perceptions of sleep and dreams or have I set my chin in want upon your be dragged cloak's fray? Don't I know when you've summoned your urge to kneel upon my dust, upon my suet, bruised, marked and spilt by our tracks you sit and contemplate me. What have you done to born that rasp of breath as I question this rave of swipes curbed to support my rest.