Posted in New Work, Poetry

Melt

We never notice

when the ice melts;

And

through feigned annoyance

at the precipitation

on the glass

as the water mellows to meniscus;

Somehow we miss

the naked glory divine

in the simple, prepense cycles

of the life

that

we declare inane

and eventually leave

behind.

Author:

35. Wife and mom of 3. Writer. Zentrovert. Aspiring Engineer. Resident Badass.

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