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| Reality check Lavender streaks fall across my dreams lifting ebony curtains of sleep, stroking my cheek with sun-kissed fingertips, resting soft as thistledown upon my eyelids. I yearn to stay just a moment longer locked inside the fantasy of your embrace. Once again you slip from my grasp into the shadowy arms of memory and I emerge to face the delicate dawn alone. |
| Dry Sunday "Inebriated," you say. "That's it! I must have been totally inebriated 'cause I don't recall ever saying such a thing." And that makes it all right? "No, you were not 'inebriated, (silly pompous word, after such crass behaviour) you were falling-down, blind, drunk. And yes, you were to blame. Nobody else but you." You don't hear that. Too busy searching the cupboards. Maybe there's a sip somewhere. Never mind--bootleggers make house calls Even on Sunday. |
| Word Search Tentative black marks on stark white paper pushing out each word, straining against the burden lodged across my back. Picking at scabs, reopening old wounds to discover ancient burial grounds hidden beneath new ink. |
| Into the Night Shadows flitting across my walls take on menacing shapes, reaching out with venomous tongues beckoning, coaxing, drawing me into their terrifying underworld. Raven wings brush my cheek, paralysing my limbs promising another sleepless night. |
| On the edge of Love Unpredictable mood swings crouch beyond the sweetness of your smile keeping me on guard, watching, waiting, dreading the moment when the axe and my head may fall |
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