Thursday, October 1, 2009

Draft - Needs work

I lie down
Curled in bean bag
Arm cuddled round

There is no room for you
You sit in the chair
Companionably place your hand on my hair

It is nearly night
We do not break the quiet
To speak would invite spite

Together too long
Communication only leads to boredom

But when silence rules
Irritation with repetition ebbs
Letting bodies relax into familiar grooves
And habits long established
Of comfort and care
Like curling up close by your chair
While you rest your hand on my hair

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