Snooze

The early morning dreams were the worst,
when the bridge between sleep and the waking world
was already open to traffic, its boundaries blurred;
she’d wake uncertain if he’d really come back,
dazzled and dazed by what she would do if he had.

This entry was posted in poetry and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s