Poem By Zoe Schwab

Drift into my dreamy mind,
a dark muddy current.
Spill onto my white pillow, so that you may
stay sweet and sticky in my hair,
pressed against my head.
Seep through the cotton,
staining the feathers
like wine on a tablecloth
or blood on a T-shirt.
Drench them in
red red red.
If I have to wake up,
it will be in a puddle of
sleepy fragments,
a shattered mirror,
with you shining in each shard.

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