My mouth tastes vibrantly ill—
fluorescent yellow/green.
When I try to breathe
there’s the sound of dusty shagpile.
My back hurts like
rotting pineapple smells
in this bed that plays
off-time.
.
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Oof. That’s one hurlyburly of a bed.
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That was one bed I would not like to sleep in.
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Love the superb use of the senses in your poem. Thanks for joining in our dVerse prompt.
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thank you Grace!
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it was such an interesting prompt
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