Meg Howell Nov 2017
A daily riddle
Has come to mind
Where abstract words
Break an abstract mind
And things once healed
Fall apart
After the moon hits that mark
Thoughts are runny
Dilapidated ears hear harsh lullabies
But no baby cries
Just you and I
Cries fit for the night
The dubious night
The doubtful night
The dangerous night
Our night

— The End —