Monday, March 19, 2018

Sana Tamreen Mohammed writes


These winds,
gentle as the night.
Leaves rock to sleep.
From the tiny gaps 
through the night wood,
moonbeams fall
on my bed, your arm.
Everything brightens up again.

Your ear on my lips,
soft as a dream.
Whisper is a bird
that comes daily
in the small hours of morning 
with its favorite note.
Arm becomes a home
and nights are not long enough.
Never will be.
 Image result for asleep on arm paintings
 Lovers Sleeping -- Meredith O'Neal

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