3 A.M., I'm still awake

3 a.m. knocks and awakes my fear.

soft plush droplets 

sparkle the stars,

gliding down

a glass cold water.

Quite stale from a few hours 

sitting on the bedside.

3 a.m. draws me in and beleaguers

the cold front 

that quilt lines the curves of my toes

hanging over the edge of the bed.

3 a.m. tosses and turns 

towards the partly drawn curtains.

The soft thud timing 

your movement and paces

your sweet breathing.

3 a.m. you are so clear

so much so

my hand tousles your eyelashes. 

Gentle with sleep 

I drift to your sea.

Lost in a dawn grey comforter

and the smell of sea salt.

3 a.m. I shiver loudly 

as acquiescence dawns my 3 a.m.

Miniature in a grown up bed.

Empty grey sheets against the only skin


 3 a.m. I dreamed all of it.

My hands searching for warmth.

I am actually utterly alone.


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