Wee Small Hours

was feelin too sick to write poetry every breath taken was another nail in my coffin with shades of self pity hanging over my shoulders like a long lost friend this cold still goes on forever robbing me of vitality, smell, and sacred and much adored sleep as coughing fits like grand mal seziures keep me enraptured in their tendrells never mind these wee hours of the early early mornin say 1.14 am allow me to think about things long forgotten like how my loved one called me "toquie" and how much I loved that name....and all the warm cozy feelings the little girl inside of me now misses these feelings I get to think about my goals and aspirations of the art show I again want to put on in a small coffee shop on THE DRIVE But, most of all, this cold has given me a gift of realizing how imporant one's health is... in order to fully love oneself... and you.