Cajoling Poem by John Wilkinson

Cajoling

Rating: 3.5


If I let myself
freely to spill,
here is a wolf
amidst forest petals

carrying a small
grey harbinger,
here is a blue woollen
empty. Its shelf.

Either it freezes
or coagulates
or sets firm.
Every sweet piece

picked up, melts.
Never think.
Never feel.
I won't give leave.

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