Wednesday, May 29, 2013

Poetry Wednesday

The May Bed

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

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:

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