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Cotton Dreams
July 26, 2012
I am sitting on a motel bed
on a Sunday morning.
The sheets are the blankest of white;
thin and uncomfortable.
But I will hold them up against me,
twist my fingers
into the folds of fabric
and pretend,
just for a minute,
that they will envelop my body,
lift it out the door
then into the sky
and carry me to you.
© Alana R.
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