TheFeatheredSleep – a relationship on the cusp of change?
What used to matter
Hangs damp in cold room
Thin at neck, gravity urging shape
To stretch uneven and gnarled by neglect.
What used to matter
Is a stain that isn’t removed by washing, even on high
A partial magnet on fridge, without part that gave meaning
Just an outline, take a guess; bird or city, resort or wise crack
We fill in what nolonger makes sense, with the dried impatience of ninety year olds
Unable to return volley.
What used to matter
Lies between us at night, tossing and turning
If we were milk, we’d spoil before first light
But you were always practical, rinsing bottles the night before
If you’d been a typewriter you’d have made a perfect sound at the end of each sentence
ding
You take out the old and bring in the new
I’m reminded of lamps, one shiny, one tarnished
And your face, free…
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