One day

I thought if I moved on, one day I would have a decent bed,
lined with satin strokes and a longing “once upon a time,”
with Chet’s Almost Blue and merrily misplaced cufflinks
in the background. Maybe even a bowl of strawberries
on the bedside table next to the iambi of a gentleman
in a straw hat. And there would always be a moment
to watch the magpies frolicking on the windowsill,
or a bit of bedroom banter involving cantharides
and the exchange rate for sea glass or pebbles.

I thought if I moved on, one day I would meet
the sentiment.

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