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3:AM
The clock strikes three AM once again
I sit here with my head in my hands
Were there no other heads
in which your memory
could land?
Must “as low as you can go”
be redefined with each passing
second of time?
If so, why must my soul
be the dictionary?
Ahhh, but you my love,
You sleep to gentle summer winds
Crescent nights and un-blue days
Just as well, as time will tell
Meanwhile…please leave
© 2002 Dennis Hicks
Hiya.
Liked this one Dennis, liked the way the last line tries to exorcise the memory---please leave. :)