three am

September 17, 2012
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It's 3am.
And I write to you
Because I know
You will not answer.
The fan purrs in the
Reminding me
of the heat.
The sheets cling to my legs.
As I send my thoughts to you,
As they travel on the gossamer wings
Of the fireflies,
Floating with the rare breeze
On the petals of a dandelion.
As the recycled words spread across
the frothing waves.
In my lost hours of insomnia,
My thoughts often return
to the
sound of your voice
to the comfort I felt
in your presence.
My whole fist
clasped around your sole finger.
Your smiling grey eyes
staring into mine.

Your daughter.

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