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by Mike McGonegal

Red chalky dry
Senses slowly return and she’s gone
As I notice it’s noon
Was it only a dream
I’m alone

A sickly wind
Rips my eyes and her name
Hits my mind and my phone
Is as dry as my throat
There’s no sign

As a horrible silence sets in
I grumble for science
“Chelsea?” for naught
It’s a humbling thought
I roll over and swear

But a ring from her ear
Is still here by the pillow
I hold it hard and think of last night
At the pool table bar
And I drift with my phone
Back to red chalky sleep

Copyright © 2013 by Mike McGonegal

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