First was a blue bed, earned and made
and framing both
with fingertips matched overhead, and morning
glories growing
Offering not shade, but sustenance,
satisfying something in me, impossibly,
with hunger, making me
unashamed.
I cannot explain this adequately;
I cannot tell this to you if you do not already know it.
Annnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnd something not-mine that I love:
