Litkicks Message Board Archive


Posted to Action Poetry

he slithered from my blankets
with the song of blue.
i recall his form
rising gently from my bedsheets
bathed in pre-dawns voice,
still scratchy from sleep.

he untangled himself
from my sighs
before the harsh light of morning
could burn away the night.
memories of recent history
suspended in closed curtains
and floating like seaweed
beneath the ocean of sleep.