Christina Hefton

The Storm

The sheets are untouched,
My room is pitch black but
For less than a pink glow through the blinds.
I can’t stop thinking about your face...
Every time I say your name.
My pulse whirrs from steady susurration
To a surging intensity.
I hold the phone in my hand, too afraid to call;
The rain spills onto my window and melts to the ground,

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