eleven p.m.

text messages
from dearest friends

I miss him
we hold funny little conversations
trying to say too much
in 160 characters.
The messages hold unspoken promise
of more words to come
when we are again within earshot.

I think of her
suddenly a note of
as if by magic
as if by connection.

I send my love right back
and as an afterthought
I ask her if she is havering.

July ’07 


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This blog is the collection of my poetry and prose, in chronological order from most recent to oldest.

Constructive critique is actively encouraged!

I am usually singing words as well as writing them, and make lots of other art. You can find me & my other art at any of the below links. x

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All content on this blog © Rebecca Tilley, 2003-present

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