by Christopher James Harley

I want to feel that curly coarseness, touch
The nape with care and dry the dew from hair
Belonging where my chest is facing up.
A shower’s steam decreases, granted time and air.

We breathe the marijuana leaf abed
With heavy lids and tones of blue from news
Disseminating murders, dreadful dregs.
We fill the alcohol and drink a few.

A lullaby can loll us better, babe.
You know it, too, so play a music tune.
The scattered clouds and parted drapes, the scape
Of stars recall to mind the children’s room.

We strive so they relax asleep at night.
You think the stars relate to sacrifice?

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