A Habit
A bed of white silk,
Yet no single dream.
I have a habit,
I get sleepless sleeps
writing in my dreams.
Turning in silk,
Wetting quills and
Inking paper
with a new poem.
Insidious
Yet priceless,
I love it.
What a
habit!
Sweet.
12/06/17
Poem Type : DIMINISHED HEXAVERSE
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