Wednesday, April 18, 2012

April 17th

Laid down in bed,
the sheets (do to their utter lack
of movement in the day)
are seventy four degrees.
The waffle of the blanket.
Calf quaking. Trembling.
Exhaustion.

And
once inside, realizing
she may,
tho will never allow herself to again.

And
That all things are meant to be taken
at face value.

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