will be forgotten.
Through the foggy bedroom landscape
and a muted dawn chorus
curtains grow lighter
as the prospect of another day looms
spent slumping over an empty coffee mug.
Snatched naps and
fearful awakenings,
numbed by a cool breeze.
The perpetual state of weary bouncing,
which darkness brings with hushed sing song,
lingers in aching joints.
And of you,
sacred, nocturnal child,
all I will take forwards
is the day you placed your hands on my face
and kissed me.
Poetry
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