The Wee Hours

I whisper –
“Thanks”.
The spider hears. 
My little voice 
croaks,
shakily.
It’s the tiny hours
here,
in my room
where sleep comes
dripping 
over the edge of the clock….
Coming in and out
of consciousness
like waves of hot flushes,
I struggle to tap 
these wee few words.
If my eyes were even 
a little open
I would see the
Spectre of Sleep
beckoning me into
the echoey chamber….
just …
o v e r ….. 
t h e r e…….

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