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Literature Text
This dream is bursting
from the confines of my mind—
imagine my disappointment
when it was
you were throatless like the rest of them.
Entrails folded neatly under the bed
where you daren’t peek,
I make a nest of hands in my lap and give patience a try—
though, I balk—
nothing I can say could be meaningful.
from the confines of my mind—
imagine my disappointment
when it was
you were throatless like the rest of them.
Entrails folded neatly under the bed
where you daren’t peek,
I make a nest of hands in my lap and give patience a try—
though, I balk—
nothing I can say could be meaningful.
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