Do fiddle together, they say,
as if man lust were in want

when his smooth, cool music
fingers my girly drives
are I ugly – not gorgeous?

Some waxy, like rust,
saying one of thousand

not sad, but like rain
are sky-suited.

(Fridays are Magnetic Poetry day.  Play online. Image from personal collection.)

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Permission to write, paint, and imagine are the gifts I gave myself when chronic illness hit - a fair exchange: being for doing. Relevance is an attitude. Humour essential.

8 thoughts on “Sky-Suited

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