the line of her
beneath the sheets,
asleep,
the soft curve of her.
the brush of hair,
the arm
over her eyes.
the smell, the taste
of her
on my lips, on my
hands.
how deep she's fallen
into sleep,
hardly moving, hardly
breathing,
away in a dream
she won't remember,
hoping it's of me.
Thursday, January 18, 2018
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