A mere flight of fancy, you say?
Ridden by the mare while I slept
seemingly safe in my own bed
The wheezing breath in my ear
as I woke up this morn
Staring into eyes not mine
as I brush my teeth
The hand on my shoulder
ever present, ever gripping
An extra set of footsteps
but no stranger to be seen
And the person sitting in my chair
as I yet again struggle to sleep
A mere flight of fancy, you say?
Poetry by Thomas Selnes
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Written on 2006-11-04 at 13:39
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