Its perfect darkness bleached— a brighter hue
than sleep prefers. I looked for you beside
me— where you yesterday reposed, but now
that space was empty and your bedclothes, drawn
and squared, amazed me by the mess
of sheets as yet I wore. Did you escape
before I noticed that you rose and blew
as breezes; was I ignorant of you?
I pulled my eyelid shades and traced your shape
where it had been – where it belonged – to bless
myself, to comfort thoughts of you. But dawn
persisted. You were gone, removed: and how
I missed you. How I wept. How I’d confide
complexities of freedom from, to you.
on Sunday morning waking up
on Sunday morning waking up
"Every genuinely religious person is a heretic, and therefore a revolutionary" -- GBShaw
- Lightning Rod
- Posts: 5211
- Joined: August 15th, 2004, 6:57 pm
- Location: between my ears
- Contact:
- hester_prynne
- Posts: 2363
- Joined: June 26th, 2006, 12:35 am
- Location: Seattle, Washington
- Contact:
Who is online
Users browsing this forum: No registered users and 27 guests