the stars, the sea, and sleep.

Wednesday, May 4, 2011

No Thrice Magic

The sirens called you out in fear of heat,
Diaspora for the light your needs devoured,
To fall asleep alone,
Regretting every conscious hour.
You slipped each sip from under your sheets
And twisted them tightly in your fist,
Your bed was a ship that started to keel.
It was a genie in a bottle,
It was a drunk and polished steel.

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