We were parents,

once the labour of our love was over,

after we retrieved the mess we made.

We cradled it for months,

nurturing it to life,

in the winter of our love,

when we were together just to stay warm.


Withered and crooked,

hopelessly we forced

life into this deflated husk.

Its frame let out a final sigh,

wasted on us,

we were too selfish to salvage

what we could have been.


-Alex W. (First draft for NaPoWriMo 3/30)

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