The Strange Case of the Stone in the Night
I sat staring wide awake At a snow white candle on an empty round table Sired for wounding Or so it feels, A beast of field & stream This pelt makes it real: Lank, soaked, maculate creaking, cloying character armour…
A warning! Do not trip On the large smooth shiny spongey granite muffin At the door In the night It slid there whipped cajoled & now wet-nursed by tender urgent scrubber Those same handmaidens who passed on this message: ‘I just curled to say I love you. Skip.’
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