13 November, 2017

In Quite Reflection

In Quiet Reflection

A cat cuddles my legs,
maybe someone
could take her place,
I would stroke her.

On a winter night,
at 54 degrees,
I hold your cold
hand in mine.

We hold onto each other
try hard not to
shed tears, least we
seem weak

Tonight we are a vessel
full of photographs
that tiptoe  our dreams

I cuddle with the cat until you are home.


 

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