Fit and fiddle

I wake in the middle of tranquil

Pick up my phone and study its light

It’s a poem by you

“Fields of flowers and a girl

Everything flowing and fitting just right

A bed and solace”

my dark mind I think of the

Wilting and aging. Inevitably…these things are picked for someone to keep

Until they are

I put you down and turn fetal until you alarm me to go do someone’s unfinished work

One thought on “Fit and fiddle”

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