Tuesday, March 4, 2014
under covers
in my own land
I'm not tired
just exhausted by the hum drum
the strumming
and spinning
of the world
ceaseless,
in the half conscious moments
between somnolence
and the city lights
your imagined presence materialises beside me
as we ride off into the city of dreams
a circadian cycle on looped replay
but that's the only time
the million miles between us
shrinks into the air
and in the warmth of my own sheets
I can almost feel you here
Labels: (a short one, of her _____ to be free. when life pulls them apart in different directions, on how her days flash past in longing