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That's when
by Trisha De GraciaIn 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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