2020 - Spring

Drops of Spinsterhood

Image: © CDL

Author: CDL


Drops of Spinsterhood



In our pond I float.

Sick of my condensed perfume,

time to leave this tepid room.


You boiled, remember,

dreamt about our infusion

until, encouraged

by my ‘whole leaf’ pretension,

I danced out of your pink water.


Again, why did I think

that the half-full cup you’d kept

was cold without tea?

I dived back in. While I slept,

you spat us into the sink.


On the table (cherry wood)

now crawl sodden leaves who would

rather dry than rot.





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