Sunday, February 6, 2011

I write on lunch break sometimes

I woke up last night
And the terror of my dreams
Wasn't painted on the shadows of the wall.
But the simple stirring of your moth breath
That fluttered the roses on the bedspread
And turned pages in my mind.

I gazed at you and feared losing you
For my dreams are all the same,
I am losing you
And I cannot change.

The music of a dripping kitchen faucet
And the midnight drone of a refrigerator
Lulls me and assures me that all remains the same.
Still I am putting on my jacket
And leaving through the front door
And I'm not coming back again.

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