unsteady footfalls dragged these thoughts
from the morning,
leaving her to stumble in the dawn--
for lines of shadow are set apart
only
by streaks of dripping sun,
pooling beneath the faded wallpaper
with almost enough substance
to hold
in an outstretched hand;
cupping warmth in a desperate attempt
to breathe again.
--
Title is prompt. And then there's these poems: nonsensical images that fall into my head and I use the same words over and over again to describe.
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