4am

the cigarette smoke dances
patterns with the shadows.
light escapes through the crack
and the uneven repose
finds not only the moon but
the senses tireless.
i seem to dream in waves,
i’ve said, to count the heat
as one. whether waking
or dead or in between
the soul stills shakes in me.

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About ky

Poet. Photographer. Writer. Goddess. View all posts by ky

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