Lunch Poems
By brighteyes
Not THAT one.
- 705 reads
A heart-rending account
He's still warm when I return from my shower. I comb my hair and scuff cells from the smothering pillow. He jitters posthumously as I open his chest and truffle about
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The compassionate surgeon
He lays you down, brings you toffee and rum, not tapioca and tap water, or vegetable oil-based orange. He listens to your pulse with his whole head, tells you it's OK, brings you