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Nov 2017
In the sleepy hours, I miss the warmth.  

Body on body,  breathing as one.  I miss the touch, the being touched. The feeling of skin, not my own.  

In the sleepy hours I think on memories,  I imagine making new memories.  Hoping my memories fold into dreams and dreams become real.
Laying alone at night and this is my stream of words.
Michael Murphy
Written by
Michael Murphy  United States
(United States)   
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