early morning conversation
with the heart
my what it has to say
at three thirty three
what it will entertain
what fantasies it will weave
into the fabric of the sheets
gladly am I its confidant
in these wee hours
let it bellow before sunrise
the pillow sopping up
the river of tears
the regrets and the fears
and the lament over
what was lost
or never achieved
in all those previous years
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