Saturday, 23 April 2011

NaPoWriMo 23/30

Dog eat Dog

The morning is fresh.

A raw bite to the day’s breeze
greets my skin
like a drunk auntie
underneath Christmas mistletoe.

A morning haze
promises heat
to warm me
in an afternoon park.

These days
of refracted light
and hopefulness
hint at happiness
the only natural predator
of the poet.

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