fishbone

slumped awake

on the bed

reeking of familiarity

i turn and touch my lips 

to your neck

and whisper good morning.

A well-worn gesture

that at times was a coyful invitation

a smug little sign of self confidence

a prayer for luck and thanks

a silent plea for much-honeyed yesterdays

a sought-out consolation

a small sign of conciliation.

Now

too habitual to stop

too fragile to know it won’t be missed

bleary eyed and heavy limbed

and yet another day awaits

another day awaits

another day knowing there’s not time enough to say

what all has not been said. 

Licking back the blood gathering at my parch-ed lips

making uneasy peace with

the fishbone in my throat. 

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