Tuesday, 21 March 2017


In the twilight, I slipped back
between the sheets,
where I tried to re-enter
my precious sleep, in the empty
space I was expected to be, now that the sun
was rising. A deepening orange,
heated the horizon,
and victoriously, heralded day,
and I knew I was no longer
supposed to need,
all those creases, carelessly made -
I was supposed to pretend and turn away,
from that which I knew to be right, supposed to
see now, the fading night,
as something erased, by dawn. And it was not so
easy then to stay warm; amongst those illicit, untidy thoughts,
without some assurance
inside. I rolled and stretched; a chained sort of sigh;
buried my face and tried to hide,
as the light,
slid deft fingers between the curtains.
Only one thing was all too certain,
when I could bring myself, to draw them :
a crescent moon, hung stubborn, in the morning,
golden against the sky –
and loyally, it hung there ‘til lunchtime,
to remind me, that it
would remember, and keep,

the night.

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