This Could Get Messy - Poem by Tim Kimball
The lonliness of the day,
Grabs my attention;
The message I've been waiting for,
Makes it's way past the gate,
Towards rows of blueberries,
Waiting for a lapping tongue,
To make it's way
Around your cucoon.
You ask if I'm concerned,
That my dignity
Hangs at my flank,
Bleeding from the inside.
The light of the moon
Helps to dry the now encrusted
Solitude, that leaves a stench of sour milk -
Staining the chambers of my heart.
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