diaric, poetry


When it’s a deep pocket and my love keeping you warm, [i hope];
when the music of the land is
the remaining wax, warmed
the velvety petals by my window.
when you are reminded of
the mint cuddle blanket,
—the warm maple syrup sound of
her voice has gotten you through oh-so much.

Photo by Léonard Cotte on Unsplash

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