Shut the door gently behind you
as you leave, I shall keepwicks and eyebrows trimmed
and let them speak
for themselves. The year froths
sour and green,
it has nowhere to go
except where it’s been.
Except where it’s been.
Pluck me a few of my minds
with your own handsome hookout of carefully thinned air
come back to a thickened loving
smoked into my hair.
Love is still tart and green
and it’s got everywhere to go
except where it’s been.
Except where it’s been.
Shared at dVerse, with wishes for all those who are braving storms tonight to come through them safe.
