Simulacrum

  
It sinks deep into your muddled

mind

late night, dream state

the pins and needles

of a sleeping limb,

tongue probing

for an absent tooth,

the chafe of the tether

pulled from your grasping

hands,

then reality stakes its claim

and upon waking you catch 

your breath,

seeking her scent upon the air,

stroking the sheets,

you find them cold.

© Erik Hansen 2016

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Filed under Creative Writing, Edges, Poetry, Writing

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