3.23am

My limbs find space and starfish,

stretch into 3am, the hour

slowing so it can gift me

each precious minute

of my restless waking.

I will muscle to settle into mattress

but my feather light spirit

is pressed against the glass

watching snow fall,

listening to icy, drunken footsteps

and the wheel-spin of a car.

Pricked ears flit in the darkness;

the letter box chattering,

pussycat purring

and my shallow breathing.

I’m dangling, horizontal

swaddled in cotton.

I’m reaching out for

the pillow corner,

a glass of water,

for someone who cannot be there,

for a love I found, I don’t know where.

Then, the hollow glow

of my phone

proves your existence in pixel,

in technicolour,

in my mind, in my chest

swelling until I’m fit to burst.

A reminder that like snow

your disappearance will pass,

only love, will last.

 

© Kristiana Reed 2018

Image credit.

6 thoughts on “3.23am

  1. Brandewulf says:

    Truly truly remarkable…and these last lines bring such a sense of hope and peace.

    “A reminder that like snow
    your disappearance will pass,
    only love, will last.”

    Liked by 1 person

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