November
Starts it’s brewing
In August’s free safe glow.
Like a poisoned
Festive pudding
It stews
And grows cunning,
Knows it’s purpose;
To strike
Small steady blows
At the centre
Of me.
To pour
Paint stripper
On any colour
In my life.
The bottom’s fallen out
Of me.
Head full of tar.
I curl and wait for Christmas.
Wait for the new light
When my cells might
Calm
Settle
And my eyes
Unglazed
Can see
At last
What’s true.
November

Emma, this is beautiful in its fragility and scarcity. Thank you x
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Thank you so much Sam, really glad you liked it
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