Inmate
37 years I've been held captive by her.
My sweet of a saviour.
Seized,etched in my weary worn crib,
Both prisoner's
Where strange hands hold the key.
Her family appendages reach out to mine
In a tormented, mechanical embrace.
To be a fly, that loves a day. An hour.
The tired worn threads hold secrets, seen things.
Seen little.
For a brief moment the fly paused in its flight.
Copyright © Rosie Potts | Year Posted 2022
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