At 2AM

Haunted by
quiet hours so
my mind
may search for which light
you’re attracted to,
and admire how it
falls away, slowly.
My eyes kneel in front of
smooth stones stacked
with care, distracted
by how you make me
fall.
Can these woods and
hushed webs
lose
the memory of toes
that searched here, once,
collecting
treasures?
Or forget that patterned dress
that danced
among faded yellow
weeds, consoling
ancient hurts?

I search but can’t find
the words that wont
pass your lips,
not realising you have sent them already
in your thoughts.

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