The Ticking of the Clock

by HemmingPlay

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We sat by the fire and you put your bare foot in my lap.

I was looking out the window, lost somewhen,

then whisked back by the slenderest of ankles.

I came later, to find you asleep, naked, on your stomach,

Red curls spread across the pillow. I

uttered a silent, joyful, primal prayer,

and we were moving, oblivious, as of old.

Then you were ripped away.

I rose, anguished, from sleep.

You faded the way dreams do,

and never were, never will be. Gone,

all but an impression of the slenderest of ankles

and the ticking of the clock.

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One Comment to “The Ticking of the Clock”

  1. Loved the way you took us through this! Love works on dreams and longing! Well done!

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