Middle of the night wake up call; a gentle hum
While off in the distance a fog horn blows
Sweet songs of love and longing – my soul shifts
Anticipation; the sounds of mourning doves cooing
Pre-dawn a new day’s potential is just an illusion
Holding my imagination like a child with a short attention span
Knowing I can be what ever I want to be in the moment
My hearts desire and so much more if I wait long enough
Or don’t slip off the clouds I float on – which I tend to do
Angel’s wings brush against my cheek…phantom sensation
I feel love seeping into my pores soaking up all it has to offer
While cupids arrow is a hit or miss; a lack of expectation is key
Peter Pan and Tinker Bell kiss me tenderly… I swoon
Keeping the ghosts at bay and thoughts open –
It’s no wonder I remain lost
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