a ribbon on my finger to remember

stretch a name for him
and cobblestone.
a torch rushes through
my index finger;
a manic refrain,
a romantic gesture
made to aggravate.

recollect why the graves
hold on to what they can–
unraveling these hems,
unraveling my head.

tied by their duplicity,
forethought in thread.

tie you.
lie too.
lie to

an anvil wasted,
making weight over my sternum.

ribbons serving the Reminder
like dirt hiding under fingers


never looked better
tied in a knot.


About Robyn

"If you haven't known insanity, you haven't lived."
This entry was posted in Other Trivial Pursuits, Recovery (USA) and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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