pomes

rupture, rinse, repeat

I thrive upon routine;
Rupture, die, rinse, repeat;
No night is complete without
Honey-lavender leaves
Dried, boiled, steeped at my bed side.
I desire stability;
I desire my own warmth at night,
My own skin, my own breaths,
My own arms tucked tight around me.
I am
The only one
I know with all certainty
Will never abandon me by morning.
I wake up with the sun and cleanse thoroughly
Whatever ails I fought the night before;
I am always fighting.
I crave routine and the sounds of summer,
The softness of winter,
My worn, steady hand –
“You can’t make me sad
Because I already am.”

-s.f.

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