That only my heart can understand
My lotion fingers grip a pen and corner me here,
Where loneliness meets a quiet mind.
This writer's hands tango with contentment,
As I lay twisted in grey sweats and unpainted toes...
Staring Eyes. A Talking Spirit. A Ticking Clock.
A silent room provokes a busy conscience.
Crossed legs
Crossed toes
Crossed reflections,
of nighttime thoughts,
that lead to morning reconciliations.
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