we spoke in muted shades of grey
my untouched hands rarely explored
the fuzz that sat at the foot your spine
a flaw of mine or yours I was never sure
but you’d laugh at your own funeral
before you shared your pursed lips
with the inside of my thigh again
we argue in deafening white noise
avoid the sentiment and subject
of what ever really needs to be said
but when it comes
please be tender
for I am the fragments of former art
a fractured vase stripped of its value.
Instagram - @abquigley1
Just out here trying to get my 100 word post without ruining my poem.