Poetry

3:02 am thoughts written under my sheets..

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17. lights low

 

despite the oceans of distance

and the hours between

each city,airport,hotel room

screams out your name,

no matter how far i go, l

ooking,seeking, in search of home,

it's not home,

because home isn't a room and a chinese take out box

home was in your arms at 3am with the blinds drawn and the lights low

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