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![]() 3.20 am There she lay in the throws of slumber and me my futile counting of numbers wide awake annoying fingertips rake splitting hair the problems of a day and you just there breathing bedside your sleeping form I am the motionless man I Fidget in a most considerate manner with thoughts the burdens and words that stammer for I fear to share at This cruel hours lair In bed, tis surely criminal, To wake and break, the breathing beauty rhythm, sighs of mostly silence. her hypnotic security is after all feeding me, endless as my inner voice bleats a restless leg cotton sheets barriers I thread a focus of thoughts shifting slowly but curled, the core, if only she were awake a warm mass of more of her is what I need so shuffling over, I shape her form and body warmth creeping yawns at daybreak the lush lawns semi- illuminate curtains often open she is a colour harmonious 4,13 am I finally drift lids sagging shift a melotin melt she the sandman felt I should finally Sleep. Peter Crompton (C) 2007 |
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