as bluebirds sing.

It’s in my bed,
breathing beside me.
Warm with sleep,

and dreams of days,
where there is a sun,
shining brighter,
than my booklight,
long after midnight,
on a cold April morning.

It’s here in my bed,
without writing letters,
or pining away,
for a far off someday.
It’s finally here,
skin to skin,
ringing in daybreak,
on my same horizon,
as bluebirds sing.

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4 thoughts on “as bluebirds sing.

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