The Women Who Nurtured Me

Lapping forever at spilled milk,

you chase twisted paper dreams—

the laser’d reality

of what should’ve been . . .


Flushed with spiced catnip,

you sip a toddy of sins—

the delicate desires

of a life quite contained . . .


Now pouncing at slim shadows,

you stalk your unnamed beasts—

ever alert for a hidden chance

to give sudden, quiet release . . .


Replete with fulfillment,

you curl in cold comfort—

the truce of a moment

before the next scuffle . . .



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