I am undone with wanting.
Unravelling, scratching wool –
wet and  unyielding. I pull it up
from my lungs like strawberry laces
half swallowed, gagging, self harm.
Like a ritual i weave it into tapestries of
the memories we have and may,
were you not the stubborn and
difficult thing I’d fallen
in love with. Agonising
scenes of who we were before
scratch my skin raw.
A handmade blanket
laced with man made sorrow.
Don’t come tomorrow.

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