Geraniums, etc.

I recall fragments

When I allow them to cut

Into my meaty consciousness:

Naivety and self-obsession.

Waking dreams

Of hands held and

Sticky sweets sucked;

Why then does this not hurt more?

Joyful, unabashed,

Stoic we swam and

Laughed. The thread

That links us is wrapped to a

Winch that one day

I might turn.

Cross words, fluid

Stanzas and art in scope,

Litter my walls and

Desks which rumble

As I quake, alone.

One day this will

Hurt more.

One day when the

Silence of a spring garden

Makes my ears ring,

Eyes sting: untethered.

#365DaysOfPoetry

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