Thread Counts

Comfort thinking
On line dried sheets
Thoughts like tea
And deep breathing

Why eyes always
Open on the exhale
Just to see what
May have escaped

Tracing the shapes
Of what should or
Would be shadows
Across the ceiling

Dreaming it could
Slide wide opened
Revealing all those
Tiny bright pin holes

In the deep blue satin
Blinking back softer
Than tucked in floral
Feelings beneath

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