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Theodore Bird
Poems
Mar 2015
Fogged-up Glasses
That leftover warmth on
disordered bedclothes;
the leftover smell
of sleep.
Tumbling through
crushing darkness;
stumbling over silent
exploding lights.
The reek
of sterile sunlight;
frosted windows
so ***** that they're clean.
#sleep
Written by
Theodore Bird
London
(London)
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Ashley D Escobar
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