Vermont
Flannel sheets and hard cider unravel the wound ball of uncertainty that never moves to the rear view window. Must, sparkable fire wood and 9 am coffee breath slithers its arm around my waist, the only part of myself that has never learned to accept what it sees in the mirror. At the breakfast table eggs get tossed to the outskirts and bacon is devoured in a sniff. Eyes meet eyes and regret meets consciousness. The fire gets extinguished along with lust. We tie up vintage skies and pull away in a tornado of air-borne snowflakes.
“To new beginnings”
But what happened to the old beginning?
Copyright © Keely Breen | Year Posted 2023
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