these things, I scribble, some call them poems,
and that suits us both, though more likely, relief,
to be parted from these pieces of me
but I am sated,
for today,
many poems were thrown up to the sky,
spaghetti strings, skywards facing, suitable for climbing,
if so desired,
some to fall into small graves,
Others into hearts
for to be your keepsakes
but I,
deeply sated…
for each of you found the
one you loved the best,
for they exist soul-ly
for your taking,
consider them yours,
because I do…
Nov 2, 2025
Nov 2, 2025 at 9:46 PM UTC
these things, I scribble, some call them poems,
and that suits us both, though more likely, relief,
to be parted from these pieces of me
but I am sated,
for today,
many poems were thrown up to the sky,
spaghetti strings, skywards facing, suitable for climbing,
if so desired,
some to fall into small graves,
Others into hearts
for to be your keepsakes
but I,
deeply sated…
for each of you found the
one you loved the best,
for they exist soul-ly
for your taking,
consider them yours,
because I do…
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