A poem half made
is like bread still dough
like a bed unmade
like half a mo
A poem half done
is like a shade of day
with half the sun
A kiss, an inch away
A poem undone
Is a four moon phase
a count to one
a ‘mil’ out of place
A poem half finished
is like a tin of spinach
still unopened
and an expired usage
A poem not a
Now that that’s out of my system…