The Insomnia of a Bad Hotel Room.

The Traffic noise is louder
at the front of the hotel.
Cars spreading across France
or further. Unknown places,
unknown travellers.
Morning light arrives slowly,
and it is the smell of the room
that shows where I am,
and where I am not.
The small bed is still empty
without you, no warmth,
just the road leading on,
and time that will pass,
until home returns.


Go on, tell me something, you know you want to.

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