Bedtime poetry

A thousand pages
made for my pen
and not a word
as I lie gripping
love, longing, lust
midnight passes without
so much as a whisper
I fold the blank lines
back onto themselves

the window a mirror
reflecting my face
I turn off the light
to disappear, to turn on
the night, the stars
small in my tired eyes
burning in their bed
silently birthing
my dreams on the pillow

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