I can’t sleep anymore without the white laptop light.
That radioactive glow that’s miles away from the
paint wrapped pumpkin bones that made up Cinderella’s carriage.
The one we hijacked for our night on the town.
Before returning home and dreaming of marriage;
Curled up like caveman spoons made from organic stones.
Stones so pre-historic they had no other name but
We laid in our bed of red poppies
Curled up like ancient spoons.
But somewhere we lost the organic nature of our being.
We existed only as a half remembered dream.
And we began to melt like plastic sporks under the hot sun.
Black as tar
Seeping into the soil of our freshly made bed.
Tainting future generations.
Soiling the roots, and poisoning the seeds.