Priscilla, Asleep

I’ve noticed, whenever you roll to your side, you take much of the blanket with you, my legs and feet bereft, left bare but ready to run, into some sentry owl’s night, through ethereal sheers of fog, should I renew my dream of old, our missing child’s help, with neighbours roused by ruckus, the slaps of a shoeless dash.

Andreas Gripp

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