I am glad thinking

of the idea presented by

each night returning home

knowing that one ending

Will be the small ones and us

curling up under

the cavern and piles of cloth

as the blankets return our

rising temperature

and become a snug charm

washing all the bad of today away

and placing a pair of hands

so hot that the breathing slows

and the passage of a path

across the blue and beyond

and the many hued

colors of Green and tan that all

approach is from the tiny flicker

of closeness and trepidation

like a wave of our own

attention paid to

each of our seeing

growing tree of togetherness

About jaybeasley2

a writer, a painter, a poet, a wordsmith
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