I’m no longer used to scratching out
the night through the switch and click
of a mouse, instructing the closure
of a curtain-less window; or biding farewell
to a candle bulb sheathed in its leather
binding.  I wear your skin of blue pyjamas,
bed down on a sofa; let the lights burn
until the sun steals their thunder.
In a dawn raid, you tut each light out
then kiss my restless forehead;
reminding me why I never sleep alone.

Sonia Hendy-Isaac

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