My thoughts run. They run
to hide in your protective lap,
to lie there, to sleep, carelessly.
For death can’t reach there,
you’ve told me
with your reassuring eyes.
Your eyes are brown,
the shade, I never had courage
to stay and stare.
I hardened the cyst
but the soft core of truth,
of weakness, remained.
You’ve told me
that the fear of loss – of life, of love,
is true. You’ve told me
to rest while you weave
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