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Parsavagely Kompenere
Poems
Feb 2017
Stale Night
A breath, one last
pause before the onslaught
of pressure, nerves and fatigue
makes its home among
the stench of sweat
and futile deodorant.
A chance to release
and forget for a while
to keep appearances
from turning stale
and let each motion become
natural again.
Sit here with no duty
no great fight, no lines
no levels or positions -
only myself
and
the house.
Written by
Parsavagely Kompenere
19/F/Yorkshire
(19/F/Yorkshire)
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