The fan turns,
and turns
and turns,
until it’s swirls of greys and whites
A transporter in time,
My eyes close,
I can see your sleepy smile,
Hear your shallow breathing,
Feel the weight of your arm on my hip,
Aftershave drifts across the pillows,
I’m slipping,
For a moment, I forget the trick,
Until I wake to a room too bright,
With all of the covers,
You used to turn off the light.
Light
Filed under Poetry
