Page 18 - Reflectoem Magazine Issue 10
P. 18

so I dreamed a poem,

                  which I can't remember clearly

                  but I remember that when I turned gray

                  with the dawn

                  and it flew away, scared by the sound of

                  the alarm clock,

                  your hand on my pillow and those rays

                  around your eyes

                  and mouth, messy hair and your slightly

                  unconscious look

                  held me by my heel in our own morning


                  probably better than the one in which

                  God was,

                   but whose lines lacked you

                              Reflectoem Poems of   Malgorzata Borzeszkowska       17
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