The quiet I usually crave
Patiently waits for me
At the corner of my bed
A pillow carries perfume
Of freshly washed hair
Mildly stained sweet sweat
Of long summer nights
Wrinkled sheets beckon
Hiding a half-open book
And a peeping bookmark hints
It may well be time to rest
The quiet I usually crave
Patiently waits for me
At the corner of my bed
Pillows carry perfume
Of freshly washed hair
Mildly stained with sweat
Of long summer nights;
Wrinkled sheets beckon
Hiding a half-open book
A peeping bookmark hints
It may well be time to rest
Blue Pen Strokes 