the warmth from the screen that
has so replaced the fire very
nearly touches her fingertips as
she rearranges the items on
a bureau-top: silver tie bar, loose
coins, gap-toothed comb, a crumpled
post-it bearing a telephone
number, the shoehorn fashioned of
mock tortoiseshell, furniture, staid
and squat, cherry-stained,
replete with socks and suchlike,
the blinds too thin to
keep the light out entirely,
and, moored down, so,
by heavy furniture, she
seeks some warmth, for a
moment, and then, sleep
1 comment:
your words touch.
love your work.
keep it up.
join us if you wish.
:)
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