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.

Abigail Quigley
Abigail Quigley
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Abigail Quigley
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