TheFeatheredSleep – a sheer delight
When you were ten, your body was a springboard
You bent in the wind, dashing forward.
When did you start to believe otherwise?
With the coming of stiff mornings and anxiety in your belly?
As life crept nearer to unknown trials?
When did you give up believing?
You could again, hold the Fates cupped in your hand
And blow to scatter, seed to four corners.
The white sheet, covers a multitude of unsaid
An imprint of the living, breathing, fear of mankind.
She appears to be a well behaved woman, with hair needing to be trimmed
But like a cake of many layers, the face fit for public consumption, is just wet paint.
If it was acceptable, she’d grab the quiet man, stooping to take her vitals
And craw in his ear, the gravy of her distress.
What would she say? That has not…
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