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That's when

by Trisha De Gracia

In the slow, silty hours

that peek up and over dawn,

when eyelids flutter to the sound of coffee

to the smell of skin like sweet, thick cream

soaking these sheets

pervading me

then drop by drop

dripping away

cognition the hand that pulls the plug

as the scent of you fades

and the sounds of our mornings

dry up and, crumbling, recede.


10/01/2007

Posted on 10/01/2007
Copyright © 2024 Trisha De Gracia

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Coleman Demiurge on 10/02/07 at 04:06 AM

Most excellent poem - from the beauty of the opening lines to the almost lonesome feel of the ending ones. One of the better works I've read in a long time (great title too)... A superb work to say the least. Very well done!

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