7 A.M.
He fell out of my bed
one misty moisty morning
and said he no longer loved
the smell of my damp skin
or the freckles on my nose.
He fell out of my bed
and I felt the cool
deadness of the cotton sheets
that smelled moisty and misty
without his heat to warm them.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Carry on Tuesday - one misty moisty morning
Labels:
carryontues,
morning,
poetry prompt
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