Whip-poor-will

In the darkest hour of  night,

I wake~

reaching for you,

but the bed is empty,

sheets  are cold to the touch~

I hug your pillow,

inhaling your faint scent,

but it’s not enough

outside the whip-poor-will calls for its mate,

as I cry for you.

© annettealaine-2014

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s