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May 2020
Every stitch is frail
in the weave of my brain
but the sweet words
of our careful exchange
remain warm and spongy
making pocks
in the candy of my memory of you
sugary bubbling pools of joy
from which I heal and rejuvenate
to forget another inconsequential day
Written by
ChronicSage  F
(F)   
  145
 
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