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Dean Whitbread: Poetry

• 

  Stone

  Posted: September 26th, 2004, 9:42pm BST by Dean Whitbread

  No longer on sheets do I sleep
  Nor the comfort of a soft bed
  for my bones and head
  My eyes shut then they open up
  exhausted an hour before dawn
  Missing you is lost in mist
  Lover's caresses blurred into fist
  Punch drunk, apallingly stoned
  and pissed
  broken, forsaken, haggard, forlorn.
  
  
  DFRW 23rd February 2003