You’re tattered.
A patchwork quilt left
out in the damp
for too long.
Bright morning colours usually fade,
to the greys of a forgettable evening
but the sun is out now
and that’s something to be
grateful for.
Amber eyes watch
my every move, as I dry my face and
wish I was clean.
The scent of freeze-dried coffee
no longer bothers me.
I don’t enjoy
your morning perfume,
the way I used to.
So like a newborn kitten
I’ll paw at these loose strings of fabric
and try not to tear you apart.
Thanks for the devotion in getting to the end of our story.
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What a very creative poem! Wonderful, thank you.
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