What is my name ?


It was a restless night …It seemed as if throughout it all that dawn was about to break …It never did … you remained trapped in the ducts of a wrinkled bed sheet …your became a dimple or an impression in the pillow ….Some of you was that morning warmth .. but that was all …you shifted from tangible  to barely perceptible in just thus passing night …your senses are dull…your are  complete. …until later that morning when someone opens the window…a draft of cool window lifts you from the bed .. your impression in the pillow is shaken…and finally the ruts of the Egyptian cotton sheet are flattened .. a broad hand scours your surface until there is no trace ……


About mauricewoconnell

Maurice OConnell is a Creative based in Cornwall concentrating on Writing and Unique theatrical appearances.. He continues to imagine a world twice as exciting and dangerous than it could possibly ever be View all posts by mauricewoconnell

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