white sheets
My soul is trappedin your white sheets
We talk of time and things dear
your breast half-exposed untouched
but dreadfully near
The dawn beckons something new
taunting, teasing, tempting
me away from the comfort
of your white sheets
a thousand times I've
turned away from your familiar
touch grown cold
a strand of hair falls
across your tired face
I reach; you pull
we bend and twist
in your white sheets
Never coming closer
than the space between
the pillows
Poetry by clay
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Written on 2007-10-29 at 19:23
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