there's a pile of blankets
one side is smooth and colorful, the other is fluffy. And warm,
the way I love it.
There's a mug, my hands are shaking---they grab it.
Swirling warm chocolatey substance inside.
The mug has a sunflower on it. It's a soft yellow,
I wish I could brush the petals. But that is for the mind- not the fingers.
Isn't it wonderful how many sounds four strings can make?
Twist and turn,
and smile.
The light hurts my eyes, but they become pools of honey in it
The desired amount of sweet.
It hurts my throat to laugh---I laugh again.
The honey turns to a gentle stream.
I change, I love, I live.
I breathe and twist and turn,
and smile.
YOU ARE READING
Quiver
Poetrya place where I've written my feelings when I felt them. it has become a story of depression and recovery, love and loss, hope and fear, and everything in-between. mostly poetry, sometimes stories. :)
