Poetry

Blanket Fort

Our covers are soft,

they call us under

to the secret land known only as

Slumber.

It’s a place of whispers,

a cave of dreams,

an escape from reality for those

less keen.

While we’re there,

wrapped in each other’s arms,

all I know is your love keeping

me calm.

When we return,

drowsy but content,

I remember the time there we

blissfully spent.

Poetry

Patchwork

The days have been cut

into little square sheets

and knitted together with swathes

of cloud and typewriter ribbons.

A soft blanket with starched,

crisp edges to snuggle down into.

The only way those calloused

anxieties at the sudden lack of order

can be paled into beads of frost

that only thaw when thoroughly warmed.