deepundergroundpoetry.com

Together

Debauchery
litters the door,
fucks the duck-shaped stop
stuffed with the beads
like the beads in the top drawer,
only smaller
and cleaned less
often.

Satire grinds at thread
in the patchwork
of our throw
and in our umbrage
it grows,
mould
on Cheddar.

Fetch me wine, we'll
nod,
continue to play beggars
and toys
before I commit to a spring
clean.
Written by ImperfectedStone (The Gardener)
Published
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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