There’s a place where our pillows meet,
A no-man’s-land amid our sleep.
Their order isn’t well-defined
All pressed together in jagged lines.
Do they battle? Do they embrace?
What lies hidden in their shared space?
Does this cotton tell a story
Of age-old sadness or endless glory?
This fabric palm defies the seer.
Our bed knows only what we bring here:
The deepest dreams beyond our reach,
And restless thoughts that never cease.


Excellent work, though, and keep writing!
9 old applause
