Sleeping Poetry

Flashes of summers past flit across my mind as I reach out in the darkness for your hand. I lay there, on a queen-sized frame of my own haunting, praying once more for a night that does not end with you falling back into his arms.

I have been this way since seventeen, painting my skies in every shade of hope until I lost her altogether. Deep within those reveries rests the last of a love that has kept me breathless – for every face that has become.

There you were, dark hair against white sheets, absolving me of every loveless act I have committed since the fall of my innocence; my heart blooming in January rain.

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