people around


some people are needle and thread
their souls over-used
by the hands of working men.

others are fabric itself
blanketing nations and beds
but never quite covering toes.

if i had to defile you,
confine your essence with words
i would write how your effervescent soul
fills a bathtub with bubbles

that reach for the ceiling,
filling the room
but are popped
– the perpetrator a smiling boy

you are an artificial tidal wave
as the ocean bellows next door.


+++++ Reality takes ++++++++



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