7 perfect hours.
Sleep arrivedSolid. Continual.
A dream, unremembered.
Celebrations should ensue.
I am guiltlessly smug,
Not snug as a bug etc etc, no, no.
Slap me on my back and clink our flutes
Let me mingle with the world
Borne again.
Let me go about, happy clappy
Dancing with a jive
I will laugh today
I'm floating in Beasley's raft
In a tin lid from Kwolek.
Admiring the wonders of this bit of my world
Imagine tomorrow if 7 solid joins to 14
Do the math.
Anything is possible.
I'm going to go get it.
Or make it
Or do it
The world just got bigger
Poetry by Frances

Read 35 times
Written on 2025-10-12 at 10:15




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by Frances ![]() Latest texts7 perfect hours.Own it, sister! The Kelpie Hunger Virgin in Prayer |

