It seems that it's National Poetry Month, or something like that. I don't write poetry, or at least I haven't for the last 30 years. Maybe I'll subject you to some of that ancient stuff on another day.
This one popped into my head as I was falling asleep last night - never a good sign.
Treasure
Blood red lips
A delicate ear
These are things
That I hold most dear
Now that you're gone
I treasure them more
Under the glass
For me to adore
©2010 Laura Eno
