Pieces

I unfolded our tea sealed pages
Through the dream that I had once,
Of all the dreams I’ve dreamt
My feathers would bring me

It was broken

Into pieces that fitted together perfectly

And I didn’t move them
Or mend them to my own patchwork wounds.

I didn’t paint this post-modern mess
With straight circles

They dislodged between lines
And silence,
Amongst the void between letters;
Reluctant
And relieved.

In a deadly whisper
That screeched for sorrow to bite through spit,
The pieces rolled off our tongues

3 thoughts on “Pieces

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