Sunday, February 1, 2015

Black glass poem

Black glass

Was the title of my first poem

I wrote it on the toilet

Last night's moonlit white sink

Reminded me of that

Black glass poem

With its 'haphazard hem'

Where is that dressing-gown now?

Quilted turquoise and embroidered lapels

It wasn't that old and haphazard was it?

How is it possible to misplace a whole gown?

It suited me, too, if memory serves.

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