• nightwriter_i 28w

    A heatwave from the south.
    North didn't feel like it.

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    Perch.

    Sitting on a mound of words, with clenched fists,
    There's a hint of aggression in every word whispered,
    The bedsheets are creased and a gloomy silence is overlooking a fine morning.

    Pillow covers tend to strip down after last night's dream.
    A kiss, a hump, and a wet bump.

    Channels and funnels smoke
    cigarettes with sleepy eyes
    telling me if you are in at once
    there's no outside.

    ©nightwriter_i